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