Tekstovi: Beck. Cellphone's Dead.

Strange ways coming today
I put a dollar in my pocket
And I threw it away

Been a long time
Since a federal dime
Made a jukebox sound
Like a mirror in my mind

To control my worries
Fix my thoughts
Throw my hopes
Like a juggernaut walks

Now let-down souls
Can't feel no rhythm
Sorry entertainers
Like aerobics victims

Hybrid people
Light a wooded matchstick
Toxic fumes
And the burning plastic

Beats are broken
Bones are spastic
Boom-box talkin'
With a southern accent

Voodoo curses
Bible tongues
Voices comin'
From the mangled lungs

Give me some grits
Some get-down shit
Don't need a good reason
To let anything rip

Radio's cold
Solar's infected
One by one
I'll knock you out

God is alone
Hardware defective
One by one
I'll knock you out

Mr. Microphone making
All the damage felt
Like a laser manifesto
Make a mannequin melt

There's people phonin' in
Like it's unlimited minutes
Going through the motions
Just to savor they did it

Treadmill's running
Underneath their feet
So they feel like they're going somewhere
But they're not

So let's put boots
On the warehouse floor
Comin' to you
Like a rope on a chain store

Throwing equipment
From a moving van
Grab a microphone
Like a utility man

Now fix the beat
Now break the rest
Make a kick drum sound
Like an S.O.S.

Get a tow-truck
'Cause it's after dark
And the dance floor's full
But everybody's double-parked

Cell phone's dead
Lost in the desert
One by one
I'll knock you out

Eye of the sun
Is out of its socket
One by one
I'll knock you out

One by one
This jam is real
That's right

Eye of the sun
Eye of the sun
Eye of the sun
Eye of the sun