Текст: The Gun Club. Bad Indian.

You blew me out
South and Texas too
I made love to California
To get away from you

New York city made you a
Hungry girl
You should have catch me
In the end of the world

I don't believe you
What are you doing down here?
You need something in a shoe
Or are you just a Bad Indian?

Bad Indians
They love the land they hate
Eat your flesh and then forget the taste

Some describe, that primal drive
To consume what's theirs
And seek what's mine

I don't believe them
And I don't believe you
I suspect everything you do

'Cause you are like a Bad Indian
Bad Indian

Do your war dance

Now you're stripped
By the things you do
Your ass is glass
And I can see through you

Go find somebody
Who ain't been so hard
Give me an overdose of the drug
That you are

You are like a ghost
With crazy hands and mouth
A necklace made of eyeballs

You are just a Bad Indian
Bad Indian, Bad Indian, Bad Indian