DelinquentI swear the words are on the tip of my tongue, but my mouth won't open up, let them out, open up until I've shunned everyone well equipped with a gun aimed to shoot me up, well about, solely for my lack of doubt.
I'm holding all I own inside a bag around my shoulder, living life by "son you'll understand the world when you get older" counting every step I take as I am swept up from the floor of acceptance into my own front door.
Oh delinquent, delinquent tell me the truth.
You're torturing the innocent as payback for your troubled youth.
I plead the fifth, no I won't say a word.
I'd never subdue myself to all that you have heard, no.