worry 'bout hurting me I've been hurt before Don't you worry 'bout using me I always knew the score Don't get excited When I come and go My claim to fame
leaves you howling at the moon. Up on housing project hill, it's either fortune or fame You must choose one or the other though neither are to be what they claim
Breed on slowly doubt pride pay be frosted on dot haunted moon So I am the dead, arrow blood and thunder Make me wonder of the hate and moon clays Turn
