(Chorus)
Suburbia, suburbia, suburbia, suburbia.
They say no one laments in the land of the picket fence.
(Verse 1)
Born with a silver spoon in my cheek, so to speak.
I was sheltered and weak, but times were bleak.
Chewin' on a bent utensil.
My best-friends were my collections of pens and pencils.
I was mental, am a black-sheep who lacks sleep, in a heap of bad feats.
Always been me who needs a rap-sheet, my mind's a trapeze,
And I'll never have peace.
I got buzzes, from glue tastin'.
Battery radiation, self-mutilation.
Under my tongue was Duracell,
Diggin' my own grave since my first day,
And it's Hell.
I never force my complexity,
My instability got the best of me,
It's the recipe,
For anything with depth I ever said,
But environments don't affect the way my head treads.
(Chorus)
Suburbia, suburbia, suburbia, suburbia.
They say no one laments in the land of the picket fence.
(Verse 2)
I admit it, I was spoiled as a child.
I longed for the hottest toys, tunes, and the styles.
But it kept me away from the fray of my brain,
I wrecked havoc due to my inner-pain.
I was supposed to stay distracted,
But I did pay attention to the trap I was wrapped in.
Here's what happened:
I exist from a careless marriage,
And I wish I was a miscarriage.
Being, the last of three boys,
I was used for amusement,
I had no choice.
Identified for my size,
Realized, I was fed lies.
Never ever told about my parents' lives.
It's clear, I wasn't meant to question,
But I want insight on the roots of my depression.
I know, everything with me seems like a fallacy.
But this is how I am automatically.
(Chorus)
Suburbia, suburbia, suburbia, suburbia.
They say no one laments in the land of the picket fence.
(Verse 3)
So you don't really wanna' hear me whine,
You think my life is fine,
Neighborhood is kind.
But keep in mind, I still live with my parents,
And I'll die before them,
So they'll be nothing to inherit.
Essentially, I'm poor.
Only so much do I own,
If music won't work,
I'll be bohemian and roam.
I am not gonna' have a plan B,
There's no point of living if I can't be me.
I failed at school, I failed at work.
All I do right is write,
For what it's worth.
Which isn't enough,
Because it doesn't bring happiness.
I would be much better off without having this.
But fuck it,
I'm a rebel who will revel,
Peddle my credentials 'til I'm dead,
Then I'm settled.
Possible posthumous medal,
With my skill level,
No matter how hard you try,
It's something you'll never embezzle.
I know my motive is to die young and hard,
I am like this, because of my art.
A different region would never make me change.
I'm forever cursed by my brain.
There were great points of my childhood,
But I was always so misunderstood.
I can't be happy,
I'm in a mental plague.
But I will try to be,
Until my final day.
Suburbia, suburbia, suburbia, suburbia.
They say no one laments in the land of the picket fence.
They say, they say, they say no laments in the land of the picket fence.