(Live at Coney Island High, NYC; David Bowie)



Oh come all you children

Don't grab that scabby hand

It belongs to Mr. Sniff and Tell

It belongs to the candyman



Don't whore your little bodies

To the worms of paradise

Like Everest it's fatal

Its peaks are cold as ice



They're riding on the subways

They're riding on the streets

They'll ride you down to the gutters

They'll ride you off your feet



Gonna hit Crack City

Hit Crack City



Piss on the icon monsters

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 buttholes for their brains

You can't keep on riding

The pain you know too well

They'll ride you down to the gutter

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-hoounds of paranoia

Dance upon your stinking bed



Don't look at me you fuckhead

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 we'll place you underground

With 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 can prove



I'm riding on the subway

The subway down to hell

I'll see you on my journey

See you bid me well



Gonna hit Crack City

Hit Crack City