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Cut Throat American Nightmare Fugitive [car engin] One hand on the steering wheel The other on a forty five A hundred miles an hour With tombstones in his eyes' Smokes his last cigarette And looks in the rear view mirror Alone on this desert road He feels it drawing nearer The fugitive The fugitive Hes alwase on the run They call it skinny justice They call it murder one The fugitive The fugitive Hes alwase on the run They call it skinny justice They call it murder one Its just about midnight As he croses the state line If he just reache the border He knows he'll be just fine Man out on the radio Is running out of time Bid to do the punnishment You know he'll do the time The fugitive The fugitive Hes alwase on the run They call it skinny justice They call it murder one The fugitive The fugitive Hes alwase on the run They call it skinny justice Thet call it murder one A few more miles to freedom Their is no time to waste All the beads of sweat Runnin down his face Then theirs something in his face Shattered by the sound Of sires and gun fire Comming from all around One hand on the steering wheel One on his forty five Their ain't no way in hell Their taking him alive As he lay their bleeding Holding a smokeing gun As long as their are others like him DON'T THINK THAT YOU HAVE WON The fugitive The fugitive Hes alwase on the run They call it skinny justice They call it murder one The fugitive The fugitive Hes alwase on the run They call it skinny justice They call it murder one The fugitive The fugitive Hes alwase on the run They call it skinny justice They call it murder one They call it murder one They call it murder one They call it murder one |
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