Cow print hats, white horses
We stand face to face with them
Two against two

They have us tricked
And suddenly we’re three
Racing into the skyline

She’s got a gun, she’s got a gun
She’s gonna **** me, no different to usual
Still who’s the paragon, which is poison

Gut instinct is hard to go on
Stuffing my face with Burger King
This and the puppet show

Are too intriguing for me to pick
And when I do
I’m stuck with one in the next room.