Из альбома: Slanted and Enchanted
Fame Throwa, pass out the gold
The diamond watch, the last reward
All the things we hid before
You sold us out and took it all
Head-borne cries from zenith sluts
Astral rites (rides) from dead-end ruts
And these ends are sick-end wars
And these ends were sick-end wars...
He's one of our nation's spies
He's one of our first recruits
I click with her leather thighs
He's one of our first recruits
How can you know
In the distance lies a grow-a
Nay, rude-off, King Fame-Throwa
Son of groupie, bed-worn sexan
Spent his cash convincing us
That the desert was a starscape
Took our lives for a set of lies (satellite)
So we could cry,
"Naked, naked, foul!"
He's one of our nation's (nature's) spies
He's one of our first recruits
I click with her leather thighs
He's one of our first recruits...