Words & Music By: Roach McKrackin (2001)
No one in the glass house ever had a fucking job
Everything we didn’t burn we had to tear apart
It almost killed me trying to escape that fucking place
I swear to Christ I don?t regret a single fucking day
Selling drugs to make the rent, I collected cans
Fucking neighbors called the cops while we were playing with the band
It was a party every night and it was done with style
Holes in the walls, axe through the door, let’s torch the whole shitpile
The glass house was a place we could call our own
This is the glass house, nowhere else to call our home
Fighting off the junkies that were breaking down the door
Beer, there must have been 10 kegs that spilled onto the floor
When we left we threw a table through the fucking wall
So many fights and drunken nights that I just can’t recall