I’m tired of all these made-up mores—
sanctimonious, sad.
I’m sick of people telling me what’s right,
as if I’m just a lad.

They tell me that I shouldn’t do some things,
like go and have a ball.
They’re acting like they own me;
they want to put me inside walls (they want me inside walls)

Strictures are silly; in fact, they are execrable.
Strictures are silly; who makes them think they’re right.
Strictures are silly; it’s the prigs that want them.
Strictures are silly, made by those who’re uptight.

Strictures are silly….

They’re laying down laws I don’t find fine;
they’re all so willy-nilly.
Their goal is to keep all people in line,
keeping them all chilly.

They must think it’s 1699,
with “witches” causing fright.
But now, as then, there’s no reason or rhyme
for such archaic fights.
So these ongoing strictures are silly—personal-freedom blight.
Strictures are silly; I’d love them from my sight.

They come from chilly and despotic teams.
It’s no wonder some want to bust ’em at the seams.

Strictures are thrills-free.