Rocket from the Crypt: “On a Rope”
Same old story, it’s gettin’ kinda gory
Throw my all time low away
Spit turns into a treasure, taste the blind side of life
Choke words that I can’t say
No gun, no bomb, no way I’ll run
Too bad, I’m not in shape
Too little, too late, that deal’s so chaste
Do burning hands seem to care?