Fuck up the Fuck-Ups, Fever.

Hey Fuck-Up, You wanna walkoff? We decline,
Cuz baby, we look like this all the time

Coming at ya with a scissor made out of pine,
Start with a tickle then we sever your spine,
You fockin shandy pants, have your lager with a slice of lime,
You all wear fancy shit, our second hand clothes didn't cost a dime,
Put your faces in a blender to make a neon coctail out of slime,
Can feel you shivering just by reading this rhyme,
Too late for a comeback, you look like a bunch of mimes.

Crimp!

Fuck-Up oh oh oh A little Fuck-Up
Fuck em up, Fuck em down, Fuck em all around,
Piss Off!
Indie stay, Indie go, Indie for the soul,
Oh ah, ah, ah, You died long ago,
Dead inside a shell on the clownclubscene
Indiegi Indigi IndiGO!