He’s steep
He’s steep
He’s steep that fucking creep
He’s steep
He’s steep
He’s steep that fucking creep
He’s steep
He’s steep
He’s really fucking steep that creep
And he used to race cars
And promise you the stars
And he used to buy champagne
To promote his campaign
And he used to write books
And hold on to minds
Clinging like a leach
Until that sound, that screech
Of a burnt out cigarette
Lighting his back
And he’d drop to the ground
Put on a new crown
And crawl his way to the peaks
And I travelled the sea
To catch you, they’d say
And I traveled my dreams
To catch you, they’d say
And all I desire
Is to dispatch you, they’d say
And I’d have put him at forty-five degrees at the end
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