St. Jimmy

St. Jimmy's coming down,

Across the alleyway up on the blvd.,

Like a zipgun on parade,

Light of a silhouette, he's insubordinate,

Coming at you on account of wonder,

1, 2, 3, 4

My name is Jimmy and you better not wear it out,

Suicide commando that your momma talked about,

King of the 40 thieves,

And I'm here to represent,

The needle in the vain of the establishment

I'm the patron saint of the denial,

With an angel face and a taste for suicidal

Cigarettes and raman and a little bag of dope,

I am the son of a bitch and Edgar Allen Poe,

Raised in the city under a halo of lights,

The product of war and fear that we've been victimized

Are you talking to me?

I'll give you something to cry about!

St. Jimmy!

My name is St. Jimmy,

I'm a son of a gun,

I'm the one that's from the way outside,

A teenage assassin executing some fun,

In the cult of the life of crime now

I'd really hate to say it,

But I told you so,

So shut your mouth before I shoot you down, ol' boy,

Welcome to the club,

And give me some blood,

I'm the resident leader of the lost and found

It's comedy,

And tragedy,

It's St. Jimmy,

And that's my name...

...And don't wear it out!