Crawlin´ through the ruts and puddles of Gothamburg
With an empty wallet and a broken jaw
It was a bunch of Cuban f*cks who beat me to the ground
I swear that I won´t rest until
Their wanton souls are circumcised
On the way back home
Jimmy black on the phone
"I found your girl from the red light zone,
She ain´t a pretty sigh no more.
I think that you should come here,
And check that things are right.
This chick just might bail out"
Stuff her in the trunk, I say
She ain´t no good alive
We can sell her spleen to the rich american
With her shoelace necklace
She´s the strangle fruit from the apple tree
But now as strange as the red room
Where lady day sings the blues
Her vocal tract slit open
She says: "Hey, what-the-heck, go break-a-neck"