With satan's hog no pig at all, and the weather getting dry
|
We'll head south from altamont in a cold blooded travelled trance
|
So clear the road my bully boys and let some thunder pass
|
We're pain, we're steel, a plot of knives,
|
We're transmaniacon MC
|
|
Behind the pantry, behind the tree, the ghouls adopt that child
|
Whose name resounds forever, whose name resounds on terror
|
And I'm no fool to call that hog, cause man I remember
|
Those who did resign their souls
|
To transmaniacon MC
|
|
And surely we did offer up behind that stage at dawn
|
Beers and barracuda, reds and monocaine
|
Pure nectar of antipathy behind that stage at dawn
|
To those who would resign their souls
|
To transmaniacon MC
|
|
Cry the cable, cry the word, unknown terror's here
|
And won't you try this tasty snack, behind the scenes or but the back
|
Which was the stage at altamont, my humble boys of listless power:
|
We're pain, we're steel, a plot of knives
|
We're transmaniacon MC
|
|
-----------------
|
Transmaniacon MC
|
| Blue Oyster Cult |
