EVERYBODY SMOKES IN HELL

Now when Larry needed money I put ten dollars on the breeze
Which raised his Cain an inch or two
And brought me to my knees
He was a forty second beat out on Forty Second Street
Where the teenage hustlers hustle
And pimps they keep the beat
Watch those dollars in drag in their Saturday cars cruise up the Big Parade
While some freaked out holy roller
Tries to tell me Jesus saves
But I sold my soul to Rock 'n Roll and that New York City beat
Came on all flash like Monster Mash
Scorched the sidewalk with my feet
Burned up mean as the stop sign turned green while I hung out on the lights
Smoke screened right across the rails
Lordy how that Cadillac bites
But you see my good friend Larry he's a real gone soul survivor
An automobeat right off the street
A West Side screwdriver jiver
Now those sweet eyed instant Christians and white toothed Rent A Boys
Walk the walk and talk the talk
And play with all my toys
As the Whizz Kids correct their painted heads and suck in all their cheeks
The King on the phone reclaims his throne
From those 96 Decibel Freaks
He's the missing link, the poolroom stink, the killer on the run
The genuine fake on the make
Out to spoil my fun
While I’m down here with the Neon Studs in a jet black leather dream
They’re like wild eyed boys from Freecloud
Who play the Soft Machine
And Candy Darlings candy lips are candy apple wine
Sweet and good beneath the hood
Inside her velvet goldmine
While some Memphis Belle’s highway to Hell is a straight up sixty niner
You can feel the twist of the iron fist
As it digs down deep inside her
Here among the posers and flesh disclosures there’s less than meets the eye
But you can still buy time for a nickel and dime
With a shop worn Sweetie Pie
But good dames they play games with no names for no one
And if you’re out for ID then don’t look at me
You’d better go out and grow one
So Mr Bartender won't you give me some wine and play me 'Half Moon Bay'
I wish to God I'd never split
That place down Hampstead way
For the never ending spending and pretending it's going to take me higher
Than some washed up saint beneath the greasepaint
Who stokes coke on the fire
So when Larry needed money I put ten dollars on the wind
Then combed my hair and said a prayer
Forgive me Lord I've sinned.