You think Pitt's boring
You think Pitt's lame
When he hikes through terrain plowed and peeled
That high hill's weeds are tough under all that bright sun

You don't believe me
All you still see is a hill you waltz to
Although you're dressed up for the climb
The sticks of the forest want you

It's bad to step in branches
They'll snap you pain
Wood'll spray sylvan strife 'round your heels
Hiking deep in the forest, staying out of the sun

Don't fight those tree-farms
Stumbling around, crying "OUCH! A damn spruce!"
Bushwhacking's distressing and hard
Pines never expected you to


Don't fight the trees, Angelina
The spruce is a clever deft dude

All through your wild day,
Why battle twigs, and,
Cry for my compass,
To read your distance?


You ask for torture
You ask for pain
For levers of pine to jab in

Oh it seems to me, girl, pain is all you desire

You'll get contusions
Trees pun-ish intrusions of bushwhackin' freaks

The trail map was here all the time

Fol-low blue
And or-ange blaz-ings


Don't fight the trees, Angelina...


( --- interlude --- )


Don't fight the trees, Angelina
The spruce twigs will never let you

All through your climb-day,
Why battle sticks, and,
Cry "Where's my compass,
To read for distance?"


Map, I read it wrong
There's something more I can think of to say to you

But all you have to do is watch your feet to know

that scary cliff

tricked
youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu