Testo Headed West

If you could just control that violent temper,
Well, hun, we could work it out.
You could be the girl I run away with
To the west coast.
Who are we? What are they?
Six feet under twenty-three.
I've never failed to show the part of me
That wears his on heart on his sleeve. Pick up your final check
Tell your work that you're dead.
Leave a note at your desk
You're relocating elsewhere.
Nobody knows your name.
If we could just find a way to control
That temper...
If we could just find a way to control that...