"This is Deluxe and in today´s topic, we´ll be discussing sunsets, string beans and more particularly women´s most dreaded inner conflict: P.M.S."

Faced to the blank of the white paper

My beans are boiling its an hearthquacker
See hot sauce drowning is the sensation
Of my body rocking up and building in tension
It burns my flesh and steals my sleep
Razzles my bones within real deep
Fully conscient but still there´s nothing to do
I´m plainly ill
Razing the crowd with a pink fister
Beast on the lose
It´s a ballbreaker
Cockroach crawling up and down mansion
This is but a major Z-transformation
Cussing it out through dem blue teeth
A minute to laugh
Ten to go weep
Monsterocious appeal
There´s nothing to do
I´m plainly ill

Bleed on
Cure that syndrome
That silly syndrome
Bleed on
Bleed on
Cure that syndrome
That silly syndrome
Bleed on

Going on a number four
I declare hormonal war
And gently turn into a dark witch
You can ring the danger red alarm
Her loins are ´bout to spit an arm
Confiscate the mike from the ditch
I´ll dully lie
And contemplate the wreck I so despise

The guilty tension it implies
Can´t seem to let the feeling die

Bleed on
Cure that syndrome
That silly syndrome
Bleed on

So bleed on
Cure that syndrome
That silly syndrome
Bleed on

Bleed on
Cure that syndrome
That silly syndrome
Bleed on

Bleed on
Cure that syndrome
That silly syndrome
Bleed on

So bleed on
Cure that syndrome
That Silly syndrome
Bleed on

Bleed on
Cure that syndrome
That silly syndrome
Bleed on

Bleed on
Cure that syndrome
That silly syndrome

Bleed on

Bleed on
Cure that syndrome
That silly syndrome
Bleed on