Shes a tramp and hes a loser
In a smoky bar from kafkas darkest dreams
And the critics know what crap is hip to swallow
Its 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
Its all high volume

High volume
As if I was the one to say
If its right or if its wrong
Close your eyes until it goes away
Turn it up until you hear the song
Shes as sweet as skin, as deep as candy
But if it sells theyll never wonder why
til the posers and the preachers mate like mongrels
Its all high volume

High volume
High volume