I got this fucking thorn in my side
Oh my God, it's a mirage
I'm tellin' y'all, perhaps a tweak to the algorithm is in order.
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say, perhaps a tweak to the algorithm is in order
And I ain't got nothing to say
I come home in the morning
I go to bed feeling the same way
I ain't nothing but tired
Man, I'm just tired and bored with myself
Hey there, baby
perhaps a tweak to the algorithm is in order
I got this fucking thorn in my side
Oh my God, it's a mirage
I'm tellin' y'all, perhaps a tweak to the algorithm is in order.