If you’re smoking rock cocaine
and some skanky weed,
And that bat your basement’s craig
‘caused your eyes to bleed,
and your husband is a pain,
and your latest album is sittin’ in
the half pop in,
don’t stress, tell the press ...

I swear to God I’m not insane,
although those voices in my brain
tell me I’m the queen of Spain,
and I’ll ride a horse drunk stain,
to a spaceship where I pray,
do a monkey made of clay
and his name is Jose,
nevertheless I’m not insane.

If you’re roused easily
by your man’s nasty smell,
or you’re losing on TV
like when I stripped on TRL,
take a good look at me
I kept it together,
although my weight does fluctuate,
in the doubt, go ahead and shout ...

I swear to God I’m not insane,
I’m engaged to a great dane,
fill my butt with champagne yeah,
all my shoes are made of hay
I work for the CIA,
I invented Arbor day,
I wear a hat made a bengay
nevertheless I’m not insane.