If
you're looking for the glory
Anything that you might find
In a bullet-ridden stolen car
On a back road in the times
If it's found just like in metal
On the tile of a man of war
Or hidden like a bummer's stock In my dad's bottom drawer
Look at you in your monkey suit A driving style,
nothing left to prove
You're caught out here in your cowboy boots
Dressed to kill in your monkey suit
Every bolt of strike,
every frame they shoot Shows no flesh to kill in your monkey suit
Build your ladder to the moon
Beat on that sacred drum
Try from all the hands of gold To clank to every rung
Every seed you crush beneath The lock's stone-ground in a mill
You never drew a decent breath But you're just dressed to kill
Look at you in your monkey suit
A driving style, nothing left to prove
You're caught out here in your cowboy boots
Dressed to kill in your monkey suit
Every bolt of strike,
every frame they shoot Shows no flesh to kill in your monkey suit
Shoot,
shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot a TV
Look at you in your monkey suit
A driving style, nothing left to prove
You're caught out here in your cowboy boots
Dressed to kill in your monkey suit
Every bolt of strike,
every frame they shoot Shows no flesh to kill in your monkey suit
Shoot, shoot,
shoot, shoot, shoot a TV
Shoot,
shoot, shoot, shoot a TV
Every bolt of strike,
every frame they shoot Shows no flesh to kill in your monkey suit
Monkey suit
Monkey suit
Monkey suit