Where's the wizzler, where's the corn? Get jacuzzi on the horn, where's the

wizzler...Whatever happened to the mob? He had to quit and get a job. Road

manager, security, hangin' shirts and makin' tea. Where's the wizzler, where's

the corn? Near the elevator, is there porn? What a a man gotta deal wit! My

head's not orange, cut the shit! Jack, Jack ca mi sey Jack Flanagan. Mi a go

tell a likkie storie bout mi good bredren wa go by de name of Jack Flanagan.

It was a long time ago down a C.B.G.B. Mi look pon mi bredren name Docta

Dready. Mi sey Docta D. who booked dis opening band. Mon in a 3 piece suit

wit guitar ina im hand, ca mi sey Jack Flanagan. On the road and on the phone,

roll up the window roll a bone. Rollin' a buck in a forty zone. Now settle up

and head for home. He's Issachar now hear him roar. When he's lost his temper

find the door. It's almost always good to see him, he's one damn fine human

being. Jack Flanagen. Mi bredren Bosstones dem naw slip dem naw miss Flanagen

im was di Mob guitarist nowadays he manage Reggae artist so when you wan get

pin Micky Dread guest list Jack Flanagen him naw resist Jack Flanagen, Jack

Flanagen. Got us 'cross the border, helpin' hand when it began. Kept our shit

in order my man Jack Flanagen. In his town he'll hook you up, he'll show you

'round, he'll watch your back. When we head down we look him up and hang

around with Irish Jack. Much, much, much respect, in this world it's hard to

find. A stand up guy who'll stand behind you if you're ever in a bind. My man

Jack he comes to mind