The Bouncing Souls:East Side Mags

From Lyriki

Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!

Comin' out through the park, past the dog run
Smell of shit burning in the sun
Watch the cab dent his door
Happy hours here, let's pick up Jorge

Lock 'em up, lock 'em up, lock 'em up
Three cold beers in a cup

Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!

Inside Coney something ain't right
Too many people on a Friday night
I can't see straight in the flashing lights
But I got a feeling there's gonna be a fight

Pack it up, wrap it up, saddle up
Full tank of liqour in our guts

Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!

Drinken down, we gotta ride
Going through the Lower East Side
Day or night, mags on the run
Looking for a trouble, looking for fun

BMX we got suss
When we ride, don't mess with us

Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!
Ride! Ride! Ride! Ride!

Wohohohoh!
Wohohohoh!
Wohohohoh!
We are the mags!