Last night I heard 3 real loud ricochets

From the police tech center at the top of my street

And then the morning after, brass band in unison

Jumping, shouting, all 3000

Meanwhile I've been broke in twice

And had a maniac at door, swearing, 12:05 AM







And I really think this computer thing is getting out of hand

And I think this tech pilot isn't going to land

Three quarters of mail destined for beer

Time to put an end, to the extend

All the bump men

Time we cake this

Compute garbage in, garbage out

And time to put a cap on this

With a brain, nice habit

And I'm thinkin of...







(Track is deserted

All securities run forth of the perverted)







Isn't gonna land

On its purgatory band

Auto tech pilot

Isn't gonna land

Jet isn't gonna land

Troll the instant pilot

Auto tech pilot

Isn't gonna land