The tic begins, where's the manned end?   The climate change will never get in   Silent and strong, prepossessed   You never need to make your own mess      Weasel to me, charming to some   Loathsome and glib, habits like self love   Wearing slim fast, you carve your niche   Lean smug back and work your pitch      And all the way I'm gone   No demon race to find   You paint it up and know   That any face could lie      And all the way I'm gone   No demon race to find   You paint it up and know   That any face could lie      Affect my greatest style   What suits me best of all   I keep my pocket filled   Lean right and fall