This truck stop: rancid gravy
A man with no hands waving
And the dog 'round my leg bumps and grinds
It rains for miles out there
On mud and tar and still air
And the fungus-lined gap between stinking towns
Pork-eyes got him a brand new hand
He's gonna grasp you
He won't ask you
And he'll tell you it's all your fault
Chorus:
The cup runneth overyour jaws to bless
On the white-knuckle express
She is [grace? ] nakedI cannot see her face
She slides across me
I am wearing a collar and a tie
We're tunefulcute and giving
Seethat's how we make our living
In a hall full of corpseswe'd smile and bounce on
Some say it's aimless bullshit
But they come from big houses and budgets
Andalthough I don't look itI'm getting really fucking old
Pork-eyesin the presence of a sweet young girl:
He's gonna spill youit better thrill you
Or he'll tear this place apart
Pork-eyes! we're going up! feet-firstfeet-first!
And the legend on that girl's thigh reads "love = hurt = hate"--chorus
Pork-eyeshe will stroke your long hair tenderly in all the waterfront bars
Where the wine and hollow talk-of-men will muffle things that reallyreally are
And you'll go back to your room with him on your healthy sandalled feet
To come out minutes laterbleedingtorn abovetorn underneath...
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Fatima Mansions - The White Knuckle Express
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