Texty: Butthole Surfers. Electric Larryland. Cough Syrup.

She played for the Angels,
I played for the Tribe.
The summer had been stolen
And the bases were all loaded
There was big money on the line
Big money all the time, yeah
There was big money on the line

I can`t walk so I guess I`m gonna stay at home
They can have my legs just leave my mail alone

I was in the kitchen
The year was in the fall
A friend of mine had told me
That there wern`t no point in moaning
No there wern`t no point at all
There was big fire in the hall, yeah
There wern`t no points at all

I can`t walk so I guess I`m gonna stay at home
They can have my legs just leave my mail alone
And I can`t talk so I guess I`ve got nothing to say
I`ll keep my eyes just take these tears away.

Lock, stock and barrel
All the dogs were gone and feral
And the car ran like a broken percolator
His liver had gone hard
And he wouldn`t mow the yard
There was big money on the line

And I heard that his brother was a Viking
He liked to solve a problem with gun
If you want to know the facts
You`ve gotta teach them how to act
And I hate cough syrup, don`t you?

I`d rather be a sailor than a fighter
I like to sail a ship into the sun
If you want to know the truth
You gotta dig up Johnny Boothe
And I hate cough syrup, don`t you?

I know that your mother is a martyr
I`ve heard she's got connections with the mob
If you wanna learn to fight
You`ve gotta drink up, all right
And I hate cough syrup, don`t you?

I rather be a matchstick than a lighter
I like to see the wood curl up and burn
If you wanna touch the sky
You must be prepared to die
And I hate cough syrup, don`t you?

I hate cough syrup
And I hate the food in europe
And I hate cough syrup, it's true

If you wanna know the truth
You`ve gotta dig up Johnny Booth
And I hate cough syrup, don`t you?
I hate cough syrup, it's true