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?