My daddy played in a Vegas band.
He made an alright decent living playing big band standards for business men and their paid Asian escorts.
Till he started up gambling and in one hand lost 50 grand - bet it all on four kings but oh, somebody had aces.
They called him "The Man With The Plastic Suns" - rumored to kill cops just for fun, and he made a fortune scamming old ladies in nursing homes.
You know The Man With The Plastic Suns invents diseases just for fun, and he blackmails rainbows to turn into nooses.

So I dropped out of high school and got the job selling phones at the mall.
But, I could make twice as much money taking my shirt off at the cocktail bar.
My daddy pawned all his guitars, but he was still 30,000 short.
Then one day, three rancid, ruthless men shot open the door.
First, they butchered his whole right hand; oh, he never played trumpet again.
Pay up by Friday or we're coming back for your cock and your kneecaps.

Hey, give us our money or we'll break your fucking legs - let's race the badlands.
Hey, I could use a stiff drink or just some time to think - let's race the desert, let's race the ocean.

My daddy stopped leaving the house and he drank, and he drank, and he drank.
Stayed up all night talking to pictures of my dead mother.
Then I found him in the basement smashing TVs on the cement, filling swimming pools with gasoline and drawings of angels.
Hey, Mr. Plastic Suns, won't you have some mercy on me?
Hey, Mr. Plastic Suns, won't you let my poor daddy be?

Hey, give us our money or we'll break your fucking legs - let's race the badlands.
Hey, I could use a stiff drink or just some time to think - let's race the ocean.
Hey, you walk into a postcard of somewhere in London.
Hey, there's a loft party down the street, music dripping down from the trees, bass blooming tranquilizing beats, voices that you'd like to meet.

So you take a gun from the cabinet and put on a low-cut shirt.
I found The Man With The Plastic Suns at the crap table and started to flirt.

Hey, a man got shot today, took six bullets to the face - let's race the badlands.
Hey, the rumor on the street: the suspect's just sixteen - let's race the ocean.
Hey, The Man With The Plastic Suns was pronounced dead on arrival.
Hey, and an ex-musician hung himself in a suburban attic - the desert is laughing, the desert is mourning.