Print

Tracks in his arm made him a man, No-one could understand. Each night he'd go out shooting skag, Met a pusher who sold him a bag. That's why he was .. Dead on arrival .. .. Ran out of money so he stole a car, tried to run but didn't get far. Sent to prison, no turning back, saw his arm, weaned him off smack. Out on parole tried to keep calm, finally died with a needle in his arm. Yes out on parole, tried to keep calm, finally died with a needle in his arm. From Letras Mania