Filled with smoke, a room without doors Turned the lights low, fit for motherfuckers and whores He says
I gotta little job in mind for you son
This ain't a joke You move or you're dead So put all your hands Up to your motherfuckin' heads
And scream This is a hijack Scream This is the hijack
Says he dictates the breaks With a red right hand full of paper mistakes He says
Don't even think about tryin' to escape
So he told the band to play And took up a seat in front of the stage All the dancing girls stopped And stared 'what's he carrying under there?' He orders a whiskey, lights a cigar Wipes the thick red blood from his hands like a bath Until the doorman calls him sir when he walks out the room The whole place calls him sir, when he walks out the roomTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
