文本歌词

Hot Tip - Lydia Lunch
There must be ninety two degrees in shade
You want a hot tip
You want a hot tip on dead jockey
He ain't coming home tonight
He's going nowhere tonight
He popped a deuce on the number two
Horse went down in the fourth
Had to shoot the horse
Why shoot the horse I said
Shoot the jockey
Shoot the jockey
Shoot the jockey
He could grift with the worst of them
Petty hustle on a two bit dance hall whore
She looked a lot like me but
That wasn't me that wasn't me
I said I think you owe me something
He said sister you got the wrong man
I spit right up in that motherf**ker's face
And said every man is the wrong man
Every man is the wrong man
Wrong man wrong man wrong man
Wrong man wrong man wrong man
Right place right time
Right time
Ha ain't coming home tonight
Last time I saw him I
I think it was just his heador
Was his shoes
Somewhere down near the bayou st John
He was talking all kinds of nonsense about some kind of
To me it's all just cooccoo cooca choo
You see I'm one hundred percent
Born and bred santeria
I said I think you owe me something
I think you
I think you owe me something
He said he had the nerve to say
I had the wrong man
Wrong man wrong man wrong man
Wrong man wrong man wrong man
He ain't going nowhere tonight
And don't feed me none of this
You ain't going nowhere tonight
You ain't coming home with me tonight