Another sound sprung out on the icy mountain,
And there's blood everywhere and smoke and broken bones.
But I won't stop to help them, 'cause I'm drving to my favorite motel
So I can watch CNN and Full House and MTV.
Yeah, the world's just a big fucking baby factory.

You know the hooker in 301's screamin' at the top of her lungs:
"Won't you be my man? Won't you be my baby boy?"
But you know that she is fakin',
'Cause everybody's gotta make a livin'.
And then you just feel like shit,
'Cause you know that you'll die alone.
How bizzare, as the skies gaping jaws swallow you whole.

And it's a long way
From the master to the slave.
Yeah, it's a long way
From New York City to Santa Fe.
Back where we belong.
You got luxury problems.

I got Daddy's membership card that gets me into every mansion.
And every butler in the country knows me by name.
Because I hang out at the dinner parties
And I try to talk to their daughters
Because I want to marry rich,
But they all treat me like shit.
Between the cocaine and the sex,
And your bank account full of Daddy's checks.

"Excuse me, mister,
But the roof is full of rotting babies.
The ocean's black with decaying flesh."
Well, what a thing to say at the table.
Oh yeah, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.
Well, go on and chew your food,
Talk about sports, weather, and stocks,
And all the things that keep you from putting a gun in your mouth.

And it's a long way
From the master to the slave.
Yeah, it's a long way
From New York City to Santa Fe.
Back where we belong.
You got luxury problems.