She's a tramp and he's a loser In a smoky bar from kafka's darkest dreams And the critics know what crap is hip to swallow It's all high volume Her leather comes off in the back room And a million screaming morons call it art So much fun is not fun any longer It's all high volume
High volume As if I was the one to say If it's right or if it's wrong Close your eyes until it goes away Turn it up until you hear the song She's as sweet as skin, as deep as candy But if it sells they'll never wonder why 'til the posers and the preachers mate like mongrels It's all high volume
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