Less of a singer, you are more, more of a prostitute   With aspirations for a life of sex and drug abuse   When did the music turn into a beauty pageant?   Lately my sense of pride has been chronically absent      Domesticate, so much for combat   My worst habits are mounting a comeback   Dollars and pence, cubic or metric   You can sit down but the chairs are electric      Lay in the street, embrace the gutter   Easier than working for something better   Pull on my boots, run through the back door   Should have been more careful, what I wished for      Less of an artist, you are more, more of a xerox machine   You sit tracing the pages of juxtapose magazine   When did the music turn into a beauty pageant?   I've become a participant in something I once stood against      Domesticate, so much for combat   My worst habits are mounting a comeback   Dollars and pence, cubic or metric   You can sit down but the chairs are electric      Lay in the street, embrace the gutter   Easier than working for something better   Pull on my boots, run through the back door   Should have been more careful, what I wished for      Should have never given birth to this monster   Should have never given birth to this monster   From all this shame   I'd like to hide my head in the ground      Domesticate, so much for combat   My worst habits are mounting a comeback   Dollars and pence, cubic or metric   You can sit down but the chairs are electric      Lay in the street, embrace the gutter   Easier than working for something better   Pull on my boots, run through the back door   Should have been more careful, what I wished for