| Up all day, a-thinkin' like crazy
|
| I can’t get sleep, I’m tired of waiting
|
| Along come a bus with a bunk fulla babies
|
| It pulled away, and nobody’s waving
|
| C’mon pretty lady, put a bullet in my heart
|
| Lay me on the streets and let the fiends rip me apart
|
| We die, muchacho, vamonos
|
| I’m goin' down to Mexico
|
| I’m goin' down to Mexico
|
| Down to Mexico, oh
|
| I’m going down to Mexico
|
| Down to Mexico, oh We banditos
|
| Cheap gold sheep’s wool
|
| Six-pack of Keystone
|
| Lookin' like street folk
|
| We don’t need no Power to the people
|
| Heatstroke, chico
|
| One, two, three, four
|
| We banditos
|
| Six-pack of Keystone
|
| Smellin' like street folk
|
| Keen-o, chico
|
| I can see so Good, I think it’s heatstroke
|
| Outside, inline
|
| At the bus depot
|
| We die, muchachos, vamamos
|
| I’m goin' down to Mexico
|
| I’m goin' down to Mexico
|
| Down to Mexico, oh
|
| I’m goin' down Mexico
|
| Down to Mexico, oh Up all day, a-thinkin' like crazy
|
| I can’t get sleep, I’m tired of waiting
|
| Along come a bus with a bunk fulla babies
|
| It pulled away and nobody’s waving
|
| C’mon pretty lady, put a bullet in my heart
|
| Lay me on the streets and let the fiends rip me apart
|
| We die, muchacho, vamamos
|
| I’m goin' down to Mexico
|
| I’m goin' down to Mexico
|
| Down to Mexico, oh
|
| I’m goin' down to Mexico
|
| Down to Mexico, oh We banditos
|
| Cheap gold sheep’s wool
|
| Six-pack of Keystone
|
| Lookin' like street folk
|
| We don’t need no Power to the people
|
| Heatstroke, chico
|
| One, two, three, four
|
| We banditos
|
| Six-pack of Keystone
|
| Smellin' like street folk
|
| Keen-o, chico
|
| I can see so Good, I think it’s heatstroke
|
| Outside, inline
|
| At the bus depot
|
| C’mon pretty lady, put a bullet in my heart
|
| Lay me on the streets and let the fiends rip me apart
|
| C’mon pretty lady, put a bullet in my heart
|
| Lay me on the streets and let the fiends rip me apart
|
| C’mon pretty lady, put a bullet in my heart (bullet in my heart)
|
| Lay me on the streets and let the fiends rip me apart (Lie me on the streets
|
| and let the fiends rip me apart)
|
| (To be alone is to live in a frightening world. A place where fears and
|
| insecurities can eat away like acid at the confused mind. |
| There are many such
|
| young people today — afterthoughts of broken homes and selfish, unthinking
|
| parents. |
| The young can grow like seeking roots in tortured, twisted ways.) |