Amazing Therapy, how sweet the sound,
That saved a pick-up artist like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see: it’s Mom’s fault.
T’was Therapy that taught my heart to blame.
And Therapy, my responsibility relieved.
How precious did that Therapy appear
The hour I first believed: it’s Mom’s fault.
Through many dangers, STIs and pregnancy scares
I have already come;
The Game hath made me stinking rich, it’s true;
but the money needs laundering, by you.
Oh can’t you see
—tee, hee, hee—
that The Truth shall set me free, free,
from responsibility.
Committing Sociology 