They say you ask yourself the deep questions when you're not distracted,  
ones which should really echo, but stay so neatly singular.
I don't know if you can't get that good kind of focus today,
not without paying extra.

I'm not saying that anything deep has struck me yet,
buzzed out my brains like a bolt of lightning and fried
my perspective into that charcoaled new point of view.
Smells bad at first, but you get used to it.
Eventually.

One of those often-pondered questions is about chickens.
You know, which came first, the chicken or the egg?
You'd think that people would care less about it.
Chickens are chickens, who cares where they came from?

But's not 'bout the chicken dearie, not one bit.
It's bout that feelin' late night when the world is silent
all those real thoughts bounce 'round yer head.

Ya gotta ask people simple questions, stuff ya can laugh at
'r else they'll all shy way, an yer left with nothin' worthy.
'Cause it's not about the chicken dearie, not one bit
but instead, 'bout us. 'Bout us in the world
an' the world in us.
What came first. Us 'r God?

Maybe that's the point. The world's insane,
and no one's figured out yet why it's that way.
Am I supposed to think of who came first, me or God,
when it's the dark alleys and the desires I must fight?
At least chickens have a face. I can't spit at God.
Can't shoot Him either.

I don't care about God, or Us. Since when has there been an Us?
We kill, we sing, we stomp, we abuse, we scream, we live, we die.
But never the same, and not without degrading someone else.
No, I'd rather think about chickens and eggs
where Us doesn't have a part in it.

Well then gir’, even if ya find out yer answer,
ya never gonna know which ya are—
a chick’n ‘r just one waitin'
ta hatch.