Two,
one, two, three.
The campground creaks in your mouth
You'll never get out of it
From the purple skin to the sand in your eyes
You're a time that betrays slowly
And if you think that this isn't hip enough
And you still have to throw up
Then you'll be home soon enough
And the spoon will be hanging outside
Because they don't understand
What you don't see in church anymore
And even if you still do your best
Then they haven't kept up with the times
There's a lot of hard work and they're smarter than the rest
So if you think that this isn't hip enough
And you still have to throw up
Then you'll be home soon enough And the
spoon will be hanging outside
The camping, the camping,
the camping, the camping, this is the place
Hey,
this is, this is, heeds amidst hoods