All part and parcel, we were already dead.
Well it’s probably been said, that one wing isn’t even enough.
It isn’t even enough, it isn’t even enough to leave.
Yeah gonna let myself right out the door.
I’m gonna thank myself when it’s finally over,
oh I’m a gonna let my old bad self take over.
I’m gonna move my arm out with my shoulder. 
One wing wasn’t even enough, it wasn’t even enough.
It wasn’t even enough to leave. First-off.
Gary was on dry and drunk before we’d even left our beds.
As things got bad it wasn’t hard to say that he had no idea.
Well I hadn’t noticed but the people really noticed that they really
didn’t want us around, so we all just opened up our mouths
and wallets to this town. Well I was walkin’ just a little bit sideways
and you were walkin’ sideways too. 
Well I hadn’t learned when a front door can’t be used. 
Here we go sir! We had docked in dark so we didn’t read what the sign read.
Though simple enough it was demure and tough,
“The ground needs to be fed.” Well I hadn’t noticed
but the people really noticed that they really didn’t want us around,
so not a single one of us would ever leave town.
Our bodies were laid out evenly for fifteen yards.
Two feet above of each of our heads was a fly trapped in a jar.
Well we hadn’t noticed but the people really noticed
that they really didn’t want us around,
so every single one of us would feed the ground. All part and parcel,
well it’s probably been said, we were already dead. 

The good times are killing me. Here we go! 
Got dirt, got air, got water and I know you can carry on. 
Shrug off shortsighted false excitement and oh what can I say? 
Have one, have twenty more "one mores" and oh it does not relent. 
The good times are killing me. 
Kick butt buzz-cut dickheads who didn't like what I said. 
The good times are killing me. 
Jaws clenching tight we talked all night, oh but what the hell did we say? 
The good times are killing me. 
Fed up with all that LSD. 
Need more sleep than coke or methamphetamines. 
Late nights with warm, warm whiskey. 
I guess the good times they were all just killing me. 
Got dirt, got air, got water and I know you can carry on. 
The good times are killing me. 
Enough hair of the dog to make myself an entire rug. 
The good times are killing me. 
Have one, have twenty more "one mores" and oh it does not relent. 
The good times are killing me. 
Shit-kicker city slickers who all wanted me dead. 
The good times are killing me. 
Get sucked in and stuck in late nights with more folks that I don't know. 
The good times are killing me. 
The good times are killing me.