A Song for the Metalheads - Butch Walker

Press the tape recorder, let’s get this all down real fast

Before the insignificant thought goes by

There’s one more slow song left to write for the record

To make all the metalheads cry

I throw rocks but not rocking, stand there just mocking

With hands in their armpits that they’ll later smell

When you live in the past, there’s one thing that will last

Is resentment that time won’t sit still

The record business is fucked, it’s kinda funny

It’ll separate a boy from a man

You can buy every copy of your record with your money

But you’d be your only fan

If it’s one thing my father said when he was younger

To a kid with a mullet that looked like his son

To want and to try is the difference why

Some people will walk and some run (Thank you Dad)

Sharpen up all your pencils, cause class will come early

There’s so much you thought that you knew

While the B-List celebrities all pay for their fame

They’ll soak up what’s left of the pool

While a kid in the corner becomes a savant

No one will care till he’s dead

Or he falls from his grace with it all over the place

And a piece of it stuck in his head