I tried to help you out
Sent you my ideas in the mail
Couple of thoughts that you didn't like
Told me to go straight to hell

You know it all already
Nothing I could possibly say
I cluttered up your face with actual facts
But years you've done it this way.

You can blame it on your mother
You can blame it on your cat
You can blame it on your God
But he'll have none of that

You're a nutjob
You overreact
You're a nutjob
No need for the facts

Your ingrown opinion shouldn't make you deaf
My reason bounces off you unharmed
You can't even see what you can't conceive
A battle of wits unarmed

You asked us all, how I'm doing now?
But you don't really want to know
Truth hurts like an infected sore
Gnawing at your tattered ego