If
you're looking for the glory
Anything that you might find
In a bullet-ridden stolen car
On a back road in the times
If it's found just like in metal
On the tile of a man of war
Or hidden like a bummer's stock In my dad's bottom drawer
Look at you in your monkey suit Driving south off the back to Bruce
You're caught out here in your cowboy boots
Dressed to kill in your monkey suit
Every photo's got every frame that it shoots Showing no flesh to kill
In your monkey suit
Build your ladder to the moon Beat on that sacred drum
Triumph on all the hands of gold That clank to every rung
Proceed your crutch beneath
The rock,
stone,
ground and a mill You never drew a decent
breath But you're just dressed to kill
Look at you in your monkey suit
Driving south off the back to Bruce
You're caught out here in your cowboy boots
Dressed to kill in your monkey suit
Every photo's got every frame that it shoots Showing no flesh to kill
In your monkey suit
Shoo, shoo,
shoo, shoo I did it baby
Shoo, shoo,
shoo, shoo I did it baby
Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot a deer, baby.
Shoot a few, shoot, shoot a deer, baby.
Shoot, shoot,
shoot, shoot a deer, baby.
Look at you in your monkey suit.
A violent sign of the left-wing brutes.
You've got that kid in your cowboy boots.
There's a kid in your monkey suit.
Every pulse is black, every frame, they shoot.
So fast to kill in your monkey suit.
Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot a deer, baby.
Shoot, shoot,
shoot,
shoot a deer, baby.
Every pulse is black, every frame, they shoot.
So fast to kill in your monkey suit.
Mott & Southe
Mott & Southe
Mott & Southe