Hog dangling thick, can't see the right roadStreets are sick, the eight day millIt might grind slow, but it grinds fineIndian rope man, wallow can onTells common clay, he's heavenly bornRetired layman, looks on and scornWith a transplanted heartKiss him quick, he has to partYeah, yeahIndian rope man, sees the timesSplitting loose, the edge of mindCatching losers, in his lineIn his line, yeahKiss him quick, he has to partPart, yeah, yeahIndian rope man, flexes his eyeDissolving the fog, revealing the lieIndian rope man, holds my strengthIn his heart, yeahKiss him quick, he has to partPart, yeah, yeahIndian rope man, sees all the strifeCutting down, eternal lifeWhen his soul, transcends his heartOh, ohKiss him quick, he has to partYeah, yeah