(Live at Coney Island High, NYC; David Bowie)
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Oh come all you children
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Don't grab that scabby hand
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It belongs to Mr. Sniff and Tell
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It belongs to the candyman
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Don't whore your little bodies
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To the worms of paradise
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Like Everest it's fatal
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Its peaks are cold as ice
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They're riding on the subways
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They're riding on the streets
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They'll ride you down to the gutters
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They'll ride you off your feet
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Gonna hit Crack City
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Hit Crack City
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Piss on the icon monsters
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Whose guitars bequeath you pain
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They'll face you down to their level
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With their addictions and their fast lanes
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Corrupt with shaky visions
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And crack and coke and alcohol
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They're just a bunch of assholes
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With buttholes for their brains
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You can't keep on riding
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The pain you know too well
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They'll ride you down to the gutter
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They'll ride you down to hell
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Gonna hit Crack City
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Hit Crack City
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And you the master dealer
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May death be on your brow
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May razors slash your mainline
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I'm calling you out right now
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May all your vilest nightmares
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Consume your shrunken head
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May the ho-ho-hoounds of paranoia
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Dance upon your stinking bed
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Don't look at me you fuckhead
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This nation's turning blue
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Its stink it fouls the highways
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Its filth it sticks like glue
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Gonna hit Crack City
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Hit Crack City
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They'll bury you in velvet
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And we'll place you underground
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With the hatred of yourself
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And the sufferings that conspire
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To take your little body And throw it to the fools
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Only your mind can take you out of this
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Only your mind can prove
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I'm riding on the subway
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The subway down to hell
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I'll see you on my journey
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See you bid me well
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Gonna hit Crack City
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Hit Crack City
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Crack City
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| Spacehog |
