Dialed up his homie murs   On the telephone   Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong   Brain freezing up, he don’t know what to do   But the people that know him know that it ain’t nothing new   Catch five rings, then the answering machine   Hang up on the bing stare up toward the ceiling   Stood up to remember that he slept fully dressed   So he grab his keys and put a hat on his rats nest   Stepped up to that big outside   Somebody once said today’s a good day to die   But he never really was a big fan of their work   So he starts up the walk by kicking sand in the dirt   A friend to the stranger a stranger to friends   He’ll take a coffee and a pack of cigarettes when you have a minute   Handle it pay dough the change you keep it    He's a sucker for the morning smile and summer cleavage   If you knew him better he’d ask for some time   Cause he's looking for a reservoir to empty his mind   And there’s only so much he can put in a song   gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong      And this house has got a lotta walls   But only very few mean anything to you   And this house has got a lotta walls   But only very few mean anything to you   And this house has got a lotta walls   But only very few mean anything to you   And this house has got a lotta walls   But only very few mean anything to you      No shock value to titilate   Far from shallow, so demonstrate   Blacktop, sidewalk, in the street   Cause life is priceless   And talk is cheap   And as he sits (as he sits) in his 4 cornered room   Following a tune, born to consume   Carefully learning and analyzing the lyrics you use   Finally realizing that humility is a bruise   Scared love, don’t make none   If these walls could speak   They would peep about the fake ones   Watching this man falling off of this plan   Underachieving just so he can understand      And this house has got a lotta walls   But only very few mean anything to you   And this house has got a lotta walls   But only very few mean anything to you   And this house has got a lotta walls   But only very few mean anything to you   And this house has got a lotta walls   But only very few mean anything to you      So who did your tattoos? That’s nice   And who built your taboos? That’s life   If he had a glass pipe he would smash it   And use it to slash his wrists   Someone already beat him to it   He would finger paint you a picture with his blood   A self portrait, dramatic and morbid   But the odds of you finding any appreciation are too slim   Keeps his outlook grim   Tap his foot to the rhythm of original sin   Throw his balls to the wind   Trying to knock down these pins   He’ll keep swinging from the hair above his chin   Till he finds his soul in the 50 cent bin   The price of the payphone escalates   Fake smile when he takes home one of his dates   He could write another hate poem for you to break   Or maybe stay calm and wait for that big earthquake   Still surrounded by the fire and the water   Still trying to honor this empires daughter   Still answering questions your afraid to ask   Still believing gods gonna save his ass      And this house has got a lotta walls   But only very few mean anything to you   And this house has got a lotta walls   But only very few mean anything to you   And this house has got a lotta walls   But only very few mean anything to you   And this house has got a lotta walls   But only very few mean anything to you      And If you knew him better he’d ask for some time   Cause he’s looking for a reservoir to empty his mind   And there’s only so much he can put in a song   He’s gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong      So, anyway, the girl was like, yo you motherfucker   you gotta lotta walls    You know, You don’t show people shit   You don’t mistake that, you don’t mistake that   I just don’t like motherfuckers   Haven’t met too many motherfuckers I like   You one of them   I hope that’s enough