I was home watching the hockey game
The score was five to one, L.A. against the Flames
I heard footsteps, up on the second floor
I knew it was Brad, and, boy, was I fuckin' sore!
I went flying up the stairs,
My room was in a shambles, my stuff was everywhere
Brad cowered in the corner, his lip curled in a sneer
"I'll fix you" I said,
"You little puke, get out of here!"
BRAD, NO! BRAD, LEAVE THAT ALONE!
NOT MY HOCKEY CARDS
PUT THEM DOWN, ASSHOLE!
BRAD, NO! BRAD, LEAVE THAT ALONE!
NOT MY GAME BOY! NO! NO!
Mom comes running in, she says,
"Dwayne, now don't you hit him!"
Brad starts to smirk
so I kicked him, the little jerk,
I said:"I HATE YOU! YOU DICK!
I HATE YOU! YOU DICK!
YOU'RE NOT MY LITTLE BROTHER!
YOU'RE JUST A LITTLE PRICK!
I tried to kick him in the teeth,
Mom said I was grounded for a week
I said, "Please, Mom, please---Why is it always me!
I'm not the one that's bad!
I'm not the one that's bad!
It's Brad, you old cow! Don't you see?
It's Brad!
BRAD NO!
BRAD, LEAVE THAT ALONE!
NOT MY SWIMSUIT ISSUE,
PUT THAT BACK UNDER THE PILLOW!
BRAD NO! LEAVE MY SMOKES ALONE!
STEAL DAD'S---OR GO BUY YOUR OWN!
He went to my sister's room, across the hall
He said, "Dwayne's having a bird. You wanna play with the Barbie Dolls?
I heard them laughing---they were laughing at me!
I heard Brad say,"That Dwayne, he's such a dweebe
BRAD, NO! WAIT TILL I GET YOU ALONE!
YOU'RE GONNA DIE, MAN!

YOU'LL WISH YOU'D NEVER BEEN BORN!
BRAD, YOU FUCK!
JUST WAIT, YOU LITTLE SHMUCK!
YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY! NO! NO!
I'm seriously considering getting my goalie stick
and beating his fuckin' head in

lyrics (c) Mr. Wrong. All rights reserved