Hey, that's good. Mood up, Mood up, Mood up, Mood up. In the middle of the week, I raise my head in shame. Time flies by when I've made up my mind. In the cave, I smile until I'm high. And then again, my soul smiles. Brandy, Longero, and a thousand shots. At night, the tracks go straight home. At nine o'clock, it's already in the store. Penn's philosopher, smarter than the people. In the new rise, everything is the best. The loafers always leave the stage. In the morning, I'm back to my roots. My home phone causes a social storm. I've frozen my jacket from the sink. I'm going to break the table. I think it's been broken badly. In the garage, I swear it won't happen again. I won't leave home sober. That's good. Mood up. Mood up. Mood up. I'm sorry, but the value of the request is zero. In a second, the ladies will be back in line. No one will even hit the trash. They'll laugh at it when it starts to melt. My skin is like Kilpikonna. I'm sweating like Tilly Saldo. I'm thinking about the stages of life. And those train tracks. I'm hanging out in a chain. And I'm feeling empty. My friend's gang is a terrible group. But that's not the point. I'm not Morgan. I'm in a bad mood. I'm sluggish. I took a piss in the toilet. Technology is against me. Robby Fowler style. I'm just a landline. The lines are down. No one is in the village. The weekend is over. All that's left is Oppa. Mood up. That's me. Mood up. Mood up. Mood up. Mood up. Mood up. Mood up. Mood up.