(Live at Coney Island High, NYC; David Bowie) Oh come all you children Don't grab that scabby hand It belongs to Mr. Sniff and Tell It belongs to the candyman Don't who*e your little bodies To the worms of paradise Like Everest it's fatal Its peaks are cold as ice They're riding on the subways They're riding on the streets They'll ride you down to the gutters They'll ride you off your feet Gonna hit Crack City Hit Crack City Piss on the icon monsters Whose guitars bequeath you pain They'll face you down to their level With their addictions and their fast lanes Corrupt with shaky visions And crack and coke and alcohol They're just a bunch of a**holes With bu*tholes for their brains You can't keep on riding The pain you know too well They'll ride you down to the gutter They'll ride you down to hell Gonna hit Crack City Hit Crack City And you the master dealer May d**h be on your brow May razors slash your mainline I'm calling you out right now May all your vilest nightmares Consume your shrunken head May the ho-ho-hoounds of paranoia Dance upon your stinking bed Don't look at me you f**head This nation's turning blue Its stink it fouls the highways Its filth it sticks like glue Gonna hit Crack City Hit Crack City They'll bury you in velvet And we'll place you underground With the hatred of yourself And the sufferings that conspire To take your little body And throw it to the fools Only your mind can take you out of this Only your mind can prove I'm riding on the subway The subway down to hell I'll see you on my journey See you bid me well Gonna hit Crack City Hit Crack City