Now, this is a story all about how
Our life got flipped-turned, house torn down
And I'd like to take a minute
Just sit right there
I'll tell you how I became a runaway kid Baudelaire

In east coast America, born and raised
On the Briny was where I spent most of my days
Eatin' some ice cream, inventing my tools
My bro's reading some novels outside of the school
And a cruel old guy
Who was up to no good
Starts committing arson in my lovely hood
I was here just egging crabs and ol' Poe then said
And quipped 'You're movin' with your siblings and uncle in his lair'

I then saw ol' Poe's cab and when it came near
The license plate said dawg and it had eight-track recorders
If anything I can say that his cab was pimped
But I thought 'Aw, just screw it' - 'It won't be despair'

We ran away his shack about 7 or 8
And I yelled to the Countie 'Yo homes smell ya later'
I looked at my brother
'twas like GTA III
And folks, here I am, Violet Baudelaire.