The papers agree
They have doubts about me
And I'm busted.

Veracity
Is a problem for me
And I'm busted.

My autobiography kinda stretches the truth
When talking about my tempestuous youth,
But I get the last laugh cuz hey, there's no proof
That I'm busted.

I said to my mother, "What bread did you buy?
(It wasn't crusted.)

"Sandwich is nasty, I can't eat it cuz it's dry!
I'm disgusted!"

My momma said, "Fine, you can make it yourself!"
So I took a hammer right down off the shelf--
I swear I'm not lying about my mental health,
But I'm busted.

Well, brain surgery's hard to learn when you're plain
Maladjusted.

But all of these stupid debates made my brain
Turn to custard.

My Eagle Scout badge says I can't tell a lie;
West Point admits that I never applied;
But I'll get elected despite the fact I
Can't be trusted.

I'm out?
No cred?
I mean like nothing?
It's over?