Chip On The Shoulder, Soap From The Sweat Of My Argument
It's driving gets me pugnacious. Like my voice picks up plenty of snarl and it fills the room wherein my attitude sits beefy, unwinding from two or three bad jobs, looking for a corrective by fighting any man in the bar who says different from anything just now settled-upon as a good enough reason.
Brad Pitt -- yeah, you! You turning away, cream puff?!