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Who took the Bomp from the Bompalompalomp?
Who took the Ram from the Ramalamading dong?
I wanna love you but I better not touch (don't touch)
I wanna hold you, but my senses tell me to stop
I wanna kiss you but I want it too much (to much)
I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison
You're poison, running through my veins
Your mouth so hot
Your web I'm caught
Your skin so wet
Black lace on sweat
I hear you calling and it's needles and pins (and pins)
I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name
Don't wanna touch you, but you're under my skin (deep in)
I wanna kiss you but your lips are venomous poison
You're poison running through my veins
You're poison, I don't wanna break these chain

You're more punk, hardcore, mod, straight edge, emo, indie than me. Your hair is cooler, your pants are tighter, you have more tattoos. You have cooler pins on your messenger bag and your favorite band is more obscure than mine. Your shoes are more vintage and so is your T-shirt. You own more black clothes than me. I don't even own a trucker hat or a denim jacket. Your glasses are thicker and blacker than mine, the plugs in your ears are bigger. You know more people in bands and your black jelly bracelets are the envy of scenesters everywhere. Your photography is black and white, your makeoutclub profile is wittier, and you have much better soul records. Your tie is whiter, or redder, or blacker. Your scene points are double, perhaps triple mine because as we all know thats what really matters. In a scene where the music has taken a backseat to the haircuts, you win and I lose.

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