What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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Biên tập viên
Mr. Jack
Hey Mr. Jack,
Is that the mouthwash in your eyes
Hey Mr. Jack,
Is that the cause of your surprise
Hey where you at
On the side of the freeway in the car
Hey where you at
On the side of the freeway in the car
In the car,
On the side of the freeway in the….
Hey Mr. Jack,
Is that the trick of your disguise
Hey Mr. Jack,
Is that the cause of your demise
Hey where you at
On the side of the freeway in the car
In the car, in the car, in the car
Seven A.M., morning, came to take us away
Little men, big guns, pointed at our heads
Seven A.M., morning, came to take us away
Little men, big guns, pointed at our heads
At our, at our heads
Your prospect of living is gone
You ran the light at dawn
Protectors on your back
Lights are on their track
You must now face authority
You're nothing like me
You must now face authority
You're nothing like me
Put your hands up, get out of the car
Put your hands up, get out of the car
Put your hands up, get out of the car
Fuck you pig
Fuck you pig
Fuck you pig
Fuck you pig
Put your hands up, get out of the car