The hollow point bullet that bares my name was sold up in the Bronx just yesterday The poison-tipped arrow that will pierce my heart was sold under the counter at a liquor store The voice of God is Charlton Heston, he's told the FBI they should have me arrested The bullets will fly but he'll never get the message that people with guns can never be trusted Pardon my French but you've failed the test Come on out of the trench with your hands on top of your head
In the beginning life sucked You're hoping for a ditch but you end up in a rut Now my radio reception is getting so much better When I brush my teeth twice I can even get the weather The voices never tell me just what I should do But they make some good suggestion I can't refuse They say the end is coming soon and life's on big cartoon Milk cartons tell a story that I know is pretty gory Those friends of my friends are enemies of mine It's not hard to explain since there's no one on the line
It's been so long since I've had a full deck I'm a few cards short and that's as close as I get And I say Keith unroll the girl in the rug You once were so cool but now you're fucked When you wake up from this you'll need to look for new drugs It's just like old times, you're about to get mugged
When they broke into my place I was chained to a chair The channels still were switching but I didn't care With a blink of my eyes I can see any show It doesn't even matter that the picture tube's blown So coming soon to Machete TV Montel, Geraldo and Oprah and me I'm guest number one He drives a Mack truck He married his daughter when they both were on drugs There's a ghost of a chance Pinhead angels can dance We'll ask our next guest when she snaps out of her trance So now let us remember our dear departed host We're on the edge of our seats at the chance of his ghost We're stalking all the stalkers Our faith replaced our walkers The Virgin's tears are real or the priest's a fast talker Pardon my French, your brain's been benched You've failed the test, pardon my French