can't you tell?

that bastard making fun of me in front of all my peers

those people think i own this town

you're stripping all my gears

well guess what mr. president

i'll be seeing you

in four years

though on the campaign trail the papers paint me like a clown

still all i see are crowds who want to fit me for a crown

i point out all my enemies just so my fans

bring them down

isn't anybody going to stop me?

i don't want this job

i don't want this job

my god

can't you tell

i'm unwell

you try to pin me down but you don't really try that hard

i throw out any shit i want and no one trumps that card

so dazzled and distracted by your fantasy

of hildegard

isn't anybody going to stop me?

i don't want this job

i don't want this job

my god

can't you tell

i'm unwell

you ask about my plan but baby my plan is to win

i wind up all the tops and watch the others keep the spin

you handing me grenades is just compelling me

to pull the pin

isn't anybody going to stop me?

i don't want this job

i can't do this job

my god

can't you tell

i'm unwell