1971, we all heard the start of gun New York was such a pity, but in Max's Kansas City we won Oh, we all shot the *** at the bar With Johnny O'Toole in his car And then an old car dealer said, it's surely gonna make us a star I'm gonna make you a star Just the way you are But without his style I can see it in his eyes And he's gonna drive, and there's no surprise The boys kept kicking ass, as usual the time would tell But some bitch didn't decry the war on the fire She never showed intent, no, she loved to tell But without our style, you can see it in our eyes And we are still on track, there's no surprise Midnight lady, situation fetal Vaccinate your ass, mix up all the rap needle I say, lookie here, friend of mine Scratch that cootie, count on my flamingo boots Souls of Beacon, standing up in Puerto Rican tone Riding on the wheels of hell Smoking my hot axle brass Oh, the backstage is rocking and we're copping from the local police That's right, the local police Oh, the justice of peace But without our style, you can see it in our eyes And we are still on track, baby, it's no surprise No surprise Rock and roll junkie ho, got my foot inside the door Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, nobody's keeping score Bad times go away, come again some other day Don't matter if it's sad or frazz, let's keep the blues at bay Candy store, rock and roll, corporation, jelly roll Play the singles in any, it's called the Gram and Saturday S, K, P, M, N, O, M, A, O, M, N, O, P, I, J, E, P, R, O, T, S, M, N, O, P, R, O, P Oh, the backstage is rocking and we're copping from the local police That's right, the local police Oh, the justice of peace But without our style, you can see it in our eyes And we are still on track, baby, it's no surprise No surprise