You're no good, no, no, you're no good, any, you
Miss Mary have a little grandson
Who used to live by the gun
But one day he got out of control
And lost his soul
Babylon ate you up and took him up in a tron
And the boy of the man of the murder
Him take a few years, a few years to grow up
But he never got any further
Terrorists, why won't you stop?