Oh there’s a sun of mud
On the future is rising it’s rising
Not a stone throw from today



Oh cellmate what are you thinking
Rock and roll rock and roll
Ideological product



Oh the mob expects malnutrition
Robots are guarding that old ribcage fashion
Flamin’ torches, pick axe handles
Looking down the water cannon of pop music



Rock and roll is pop music
For the credit card hospital



Oh godfather I’m not joking
Can’t you see the son is choking?
Can’t you see that he’s been smoking?
Too much, too much