Текст: Dead Milkmen. Here Comes Mr. X.

Here he comes, he's coming down the street
With his drunken wife and his kids that he beats
He's gonna tell you that life is hard
Then he'll dump his trash in your backyard

You'll here lots of talk about the racially pure
When Mr. X moves in next door
Just take a walk on the ignorant side
And you'll get to see what goes on in his mind
Just take a walk on the ignorant side
And you'll get to see through his eyes

There he goes, now he's on the lawn
With his Sans-a-belt pants and Hush Puppies on
The sky is blue and the bees are buzzin'
He must be the product of two first cousins
He's got a rifle and a low I.Q.
He doesn't close his mouth when he chews his food

Oh please, dear God, strike him dead
Aim a lightning bolt at his head
Oh please, Reverend Sun Yung Moon
Send someone to kill him soon

Oh Mohammed, prophet of Allah
Run him over with his own Impala
Oh please, kill him, Shirley MacLaine
Take a pipe and bash in his brain

Here he comes, driving around the block
Sticking pamphlets in your mailbox
Inviting your kids to aryan youth camp
Moving his ammo when his basement gets damp
Training his dog to attack your cat
Hitting your mower with a baseball bat

Here he comes into your life
With about as much charm as a Bowie knife
He'll swim in your pool when you're not home
And steal your tools and your garden gnome
Here he comes, coming down the street
With his drunken wife and his kids that be beats