Punch through, squeeze, pour, pump through.

I feel swell after this IV;
It pumps into my cavity
’cause I’m a tracks man,
Yeah, I’m a tracks man.

My thigh is rent from steel that mauls. . .
Arms mangled as if staked with awls
’cause I’m a tracks man,
Yeah, yeah, I’m a tracks man.

When I spike my arm, I feel the heat
Of the medicine with each heartbeat.
From the little hole blood seeps retreat;
I can hardly talk. . .nod in my seat. ..
Lax, man.

[stick-arm solo]

’cause I’m a tracks man,
A no-smoke-crack man.

This anodyne can make you snore
(Too much and it kills ya)
And soon you are demanding more
(And then you’re a thief)

You’ll be a tracks man,
Gone-off-the-tracks man.

Now my advice for those who try
(Tracks man)
This fare—if you OD, you’ll die
(Tracks man)

And you’ll go slack, man,
You won’t come back, man.

Neural circuits won’t work. . .RIP,
Pax* man.


*Requiescat In Pace