You act a pansy, pushover

Do live your fancy, go lower

Who is that, something says your name

You seem chancy, moreover

The call is mine



I’m gonna get you up

I’m gonna get on top

The call is mine



On the skew, you're dancing all over

You are the anti-fashion statement

In a blue suit, orange pullover

You look like my old dog Rover



I’m gonna get you up

I’m gonna get on top

The call is mine



Head crash - I can't see you

Spit teeth - I can hear you

I feel your pounding me onto the street

I’ve learned to know the taste of concrete



Why don't you follow me?



Street brash - time flies, tick-tock

Eyes flash - feels like electroshock

I feel the blood gushing, crumbling away

I know this marks the end of my hey-day



Why don't you follow me