Favorite Song

He hit the ground running,
At the speed of light.
The star was brightly shining,
Like a neon light.
It's your favorite son.
It's your favorite son.
A fixture on the talkshows,
To the silver screen.
From here to Colorado,
He's a *** machine.
It's your favorite son.
It's your favorite son.
But isn't it a drag?
Isn't it a drag?
Isn't it a drag?
It's pretty bloody sad,
but isn't it a drag?
A clean-cut All-American,
Really ain't so clean.
His royal auditorium,
Is a murder scene.
It's your favorite son.
It's your favorite son.
Oh, isn't it a drag?
Isn't it a drag?
Isn't it a drag?
It's pretty bloody sad,
but isn't it a drag?
Well no one says it's fair.
Turn a teenage lush,
To a millionaire.
Now where's your ******' champion?
On a bed you laid.
He's not the All-American,
That you thought you paid.
It's your favorite son.
It's your favorite son.
But isn't it a drag?
由@PUNK 4ever@整理