I raise a fearsome fuss and I raise a horrid holler.
My head's a-jerkin', I'm mumblin', and I live in filthy squalor.
They tell me that I'm crazy�ply me with opiates.
My doc said, "You're wired, son, we might have to sedate."
Sunk my teeth into his right hand and I chewed.
He screamed, "There ain't no cure but the rubber-lined room!"

So then the medics and cops hold me,
Use a Taser gun to stun me.
Then they throw me in a car, arms strapped across my tummy.
Well I give a little smirk as they tell me I'm sick.
Loud, my rants in the car cause me to have jerking tics.
Next thing I know, flyin' through the air I zoom.
They threw me, secured, into the rubber-lined room.

After two full weeks of very-heavy-dose sedation,
They taken up my problem and reviewed medication.
When doc comes in the room, I head-butt his throat.
He'd like to yell, but his vocal chords won't emote.
Gun time: a stunner; they ply me with more juice.
It seems there ain't no cure but the rubber-lined room.