Tekst:
Cherry Poppin Daddies Kids On The Street

Lead pipe slammed in the storekeepers head Looks like spaghetti decomposin' in bed Please don't shoot, God think of my kids You shut your yap ya dirty

kids on the street Kids on the street Kids on the street Kids on the street...yeah Oh, the kids on the street Oh, the kids on the street Oh, the kids

Buried in a field of crosses the ghost of an American son Seventeen at Vicksburg when he heard the thunder of the guns and his friends were all there

Thrilla in Manila, Frazier and Ali Can of olives bag of chips a case of Genosee Daddy's unemployment check is all we got I need a long sleeve helmet just

I was wrong I lost a friend Three on a match again Three on a match again Looks like I lost a friend I'll never go three on a match again Three on a

mine Vanity fair, vanity fair It's all a game for us. A come on To remain unaware Open your eyes hook up your hair Paint on a face for all the good