Lyrics:

The cobra feels like this,
Otherwise, yes, of course, we miss.
A French coach close up beneath the rear,
We're playing guns again, we have no fear.

Super balls, they cause the problem hearts,
Apples fresh, and screw you in an outer space hypnotic, it's a bite.
None of them or all of us will fight.
Time is blowing constantly of fit,
Lately I've been thinking out of shit.

Nervous skin, no humble pack, no fun.
Freshly from a coma on the run.
Secret stuffs and space inspects itself.
Frost collects itself upon the shelf.

Audio James never had a chance,
Never had a bullet for the dance.