Money can’t ever seem to make this thing happen
Not by a long shot
This just plain downright magical/insane; minus any kind of an otherworldly abuse
Cut the rope, lessen the noose
Let it all hang out, you mindless paraplegic, you
Feel free to gimme a particular shout when, and if, you do indeed find yourself feeling that little bit bluer than
Down on your everything, perhaps?
Luck never really stood a chance, did it though?
See, as it turns out I’ve an Irish shamrock hand in every single pie on out there
Prepare yourself to get yourself ready to go all over again
To watch these hot-wheels soar like never – fantastically hap-hazardous
All over these honey-soaked reprobates known only to us as our very merry own
Twisting the black-handled tassels upon their fair ill-equipped motorcycle rides
Think we’ll need to find another dust track to hide, you guessed it my face is on fire