| You’re what? |
| So what!
|
| You’re pretending that you’re not,
|
| so hot that I’ll burn my fingers!
|
| Am I ready for this black vision track
|
| like an alcoholic moustache grey body singers?
|
| Is it true that the blue vision kills my thrills
|
| for the need of smoking my dope?
|
| One more Jean-Paul Piccadilly free style,
|
| and I’ll be ready for a valium shot!
|
| I’ll keep on flying into the light
|
| I’ll keep on playing like untamed!
|
| Say what (so what), kill city kills hot (if not)
|
| and will spot your pretty face
|
| I won’t, I shan’t, like a cunt, in a sewer speculate
|
| this nice human race
|
| Big boys, lazer toys, women of a lazer choise,
|
| natives of urban city disgrace
|
| Play the game, let 'em tame your fellows,
|
| your personal route will be made fastpaced
|
| I’ll keep on flying into the light
|
| I’ll keep on playing like untamed!
|
| You’re a taker like me,
|
| with peace using power to the people
|
| your own benefit will last
|
| Madness of the humiliation
|
| pass this kinky ass, shaking an ass, walking on glass
|
| You’re what? |
| So what!
|
| You’re pretending that you’re not
|
| so hot that I’ll burn my fingers!
|
| Am I ready for this black vision track
|
| like an alcoholic moustache grey body singers?
|
| I’ll keep on flying into the light
|
| I’ll keep on playing like untamed! |