You could tell us that the house is burning down But you can see from our faces that we're sticking around Until the paint on the walls starts bubbling And the smoke has us coughing and stumbling You know we'll never stop, drop and roll Because we didn't come up with it ourselves Our principles go down in flames But at least we'll be the proudest people in hell We'll argue with a stop sign, we'll argue with a head cold While we wonder, "Is the world really round?" We kick and scream and grow old They'll have to drag us out kicking and screaming