| The ragamuffin gunner is returnin' home like a hungry runaway
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| He walks through town all alone
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| «He must be from the fort,» he hears the high school girls say
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| This countryside’s burnin' with wolfmen fairies dressed in drag for homicide
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| They hit and run, plead sanctuary, 'neath the holy stone they hide
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| They’re breakin' beams and crosses with a spastic’s reelin' perfection
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| Nuns run bald through Vatican halls pregnant, pleadin' immaculate conception
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| And everybody’s wrecked on Main Street from drinking unholy blood
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| Sticker smiles sweet as gunner breathes deep, his ankles caked in mud
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| And I said, «Hey, gunner man, that’s quicksand
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| That’s quicksand that ain’t mud»
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| Have you thrown your senses to the war
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| Or did you lose them in the flood?
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| That pure American brother, dull-eyed and empty-faced
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| Races Sundays in Jersey in a Chevy stock super eight
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| He rides her low on the hip, on the side he’s got Bound For Glory in red,
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| white and blue flash paint
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| He leans on the hood telling racin' stories, the kids call him Jimmy The Saint
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| Well that blaze and noise boy, he’s gunnin' that bitch loaded to blastin' point
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| He rides headfirst into a hurricane and disappears into a point
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| And there’s nothin' left but some blood where the body fell
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| That is, nothin' left that you could sell
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| Just junk all across the horizon, a real highwayman’s farewell
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| And I said, «Hey kid, you think that’s oil?
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| Man, that ain’t oil, that’s blood»
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| I wonder what he was thinking when he hit that storm
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| Or was he just lost in the flood?
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| Eighth Avenue sailors in satin shirts whisper in the air
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| Some storefront incarnation of Maria, she’s puttin' on me the stare
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| And Bronx’s best apostle stands with his hand on his own hardware
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| Everything stops, you hear five quick shots, the cops come up for air
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| And now the whiz-bang gang from uptown, they’re shootin' up the street
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| Whoa, that cat from the Bronx starts lettin' loose, but he gets blown right off
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| his feet
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| Oh, and some kid comes blastin' round the corner, but a cop puts him right away
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| He lays on the street holding his leg screaming something in Spanish
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| Still breathing when I walked away
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| And somebody said, «Hey man, did you see that?
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| His body hit the street with such a beautiful thud»
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| I wonder what the dude was sayin'
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| Or was he just lost in the flood?
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| Well, hey man, did you see that?
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| Lord, those poor cats are sure messed up
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| I wonder what they were gettin' into
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| Or were they all just lost in the flood?
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| Were they lost, oh, tell me, tell me, man
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| Were they lost? |