Blackout
All the bottles and the ashes blanket the ground
The sluts stagger out with their skirts hiked up, right on time now
I think it's time to go home, do you wanna go home?
The disco ball is swinging low

I found my lover on the radio
She sang me songs from a long time ago

Blackout, shout it out loud
The devil's keeping time on the brake pad now
It's the music on the radio that's taking me home

When the crowd gets to spinning I can barely hold on
The liquid trash flows through my veins and I scream the wrong song
I think I gotta go home, do you wanna go home?
So, I'll stomp to the beat, yeah I'll stomp to the beat of the oh oh oh oh

It's the garbage on the radio
I should have known, I should have fucking known

Blackout, shout it out loud
The devil's keeping time on the gas pedal now
It's the garbage on the radio that's taking home
These so called hit lists are nothing more than fat fuck lullabies
Man, I've had better hits on my tongue in the park on Friday nights
If this is victory, I'd rather listen to defeat tonight
Am I right?