There's a chair that sits on top of a hill all the people stop and stare. On the seat it bakes Little Debbie Cakes, into the crowd they spill. And we say, Lord! And he say, Come! And we say, No! We don't talk to strangers.
Heads up children! Do you hear what I hear? Bells of bullshit ringing in my ears.
Well this is that and what is that is this, you always talk to me quick. It's a gun in the mouth like a popsicle stick, sweetness has a loaded lick. And we say, Lord! And he say, Come! And we say, No! We don't talk to strangers.
Heads up children! Do you hear what I hear? Bells of bullshit ringing in my ears.
Now the sheet that sleeps on a dead mans eyes is a whiter shade of upscale. Tell the gardner to hose down the blood on the lawn, my-my, it's a lovely day. And we say, Lord! And he say, Come! And we say, No! We don't talk to strangers, we don't talk to strangers.
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