Texty: David Bowie. Tin Machine. Crack City.

Oh, come all you children
Don't grab that scabby hand
It belongs to Mr. Sniff and Tell
It belongs to the Candy man

Don't whore your little body
The worms of paradise
Like Everest, it's fatal
Its peaks are cold as ice

They're riding on the subway
They're riding on the street
They'll ride you down to the gutter
They'll ride you off your feet

Gonna hit Crack City
Hit Crack City

Yeah, an' piss on the icon monster
Whose guitars bequeath you pain
They'll face you down to their level
With their addictions and their fast lanes

Corrupt with shaky visions
And crack and coke and alcohol
They're just a bunch of assholes
With butt holes for their brains

You can't keep on riding
The pain you know so well
They'll ride you down to the gutter
Then they'll ride you down to hell

Gonna hit Crack City
Hit Crack City

And you the master dealer
May death be on your brow
May razors slash your mainline
I'm calling you out right now

May all your vilest nightmares
Consume your shrunken head
May the ho-ho-hounds of paranoia
Dance upon your stinking bed

Don't look at me you fuck head
This nation's turning blue
Its stink it fouls the highways
Its filth it sticks like glue

Gonna hit Crack City
Hit Crack City

They'll bury you in velvet
And place you underground
The hatred of yourself
And the sufferings that conspire

To take your little body
And throw it to the fools
Only your mind can take you out of this
Only your mind or death

I'm riding on the subway
The subway down to hell
I've finished with this journey
Though I seem to know it well

Gonna hit Crack City
Hit Crack City

Gonna hit Crack City
Hit Crack City

Gonna hit Crack City
Hit Crack City