Twisted

(Kick it, Mr. Wingfield, faders up, have mercy)

Hell, lately I've been living
Way too damn fast
This successful life I'm leading
Is bound to kick my ass

My gold and platinum records
Just pay my gold card bills
My whiskey drinkin' Cadillac
And two-story house on the hill

But it's hell
It's hell
And it's twisted
It's twisted

Lord, nobody have mercy on me
Mercy on my soul
I lived the life of a million men
Buy, I ain't even thirty years old, no
Gotta keep on, keep it on, till it's time I go

Hell, I've been talking to myself
About leaving this smokescreen haze
Well, Mr. Fag let me tell you son
That is the price you've got to pay

But it's hell
It's hell
And it's twisted
It's twisted

Lord, have mercy, have mercy on me
Mercy on my soul
I lived the lives of a million men
Yet, I ain't even thirty years old, no
Gotta keep on, keep it on, till it's time I go

I do it to myself
Every day every night

Hell
More hell
It gets twisted
Ooh, twisted

Lord, have mercy, have mercy on me
Mercy on my soul
I lived the lives of a million men
Yet, I ain't even thirty years old, no

So, maybe, baby, have mercy on me
Can you feel me in your soul?
I've been by your side, fourteen long years
And I ain't even thirty years old, no
Gotta keep on, keep it on, till it's time I go

Fuck!