Texty: Iggy Pop. Beat 'Em Up. Weasels.

Weasels, weasels are runnin' me to death
I checked my gas there ain't much left
Still I will take a parting shot
Before I leave myself to rot

Barbaric motherfucking weasels
Weasels, weasels

Weasels have always been my friends
I've turned them loose now there's no end
Giants of rock tell giant lies
Weasels control the evil skies

Barbaric motherfucking weasels
Bad breath, bad taste cause of diseases

I feel disgrace and I feel shame
I feel anger and I feel blame
Feel suspicion and I feel pride
I feel weasels on all sides

Weasels, weasels
Weasels, weasels
Weasels

With guitars on TV
Weasels
Rewriting rock history
Weasels
With an office and a chair
Weasels
With nice butts and long silky hair

Weasels suck and weasels blow
Weasels control rock and roll
Weasels control rock and roll
Weasels control rock and roll
Weasels control rock and roll

Rock and roll
Rock and roll
Rock and roll
Weasels