Well we're all packed up and we're Iroquois bound, tuning our ears for the F.M. sound. We got a million problems, we're on our way, 44th, New York, U.S.A. That big crazy city don't blink an eye, anytime we pa** by. It just keeps strechting up so high, like a rocket, shooting, to the sky. Iroquois ! Iroquois ! Special Branch got their feelers out, our names and addresses 'cos we're in doubt. Down the corridor, keep in lane, find the worst seats on the plane. Find a tacky statue three inches high, dirty rain falls from a dirty sky. On the corner of the street there's a big black fella' .. trying to sell me an umberalla.