Straight to Hell

If you can play on the fiddle
How's about a British jig and reel?
Speaking King's English in quotation
As railhead towns feel the steel mills rust water froze
In the generation
Clear as winter ice
This is your paradise

There ain't no need for you
Go straight to hell, boys

You want to join in a chorus
Of the Amerasian blues?
When it's Christmas out in Ho Chi Minh City
Kiddie say papa, papa, papa, papa-san take me home
See me got photo, photo
Photograph of you
Mamma, Mamma, Mamma-san
Of you and Mamma, Mamma, Mamma-san
Let me tell you about your blood bamboo, kid
It ain't Coca-Cola, it's rice

Straight to hell
Oh Papa-san
Please take me home
Oh Papa-san
Everybody they want to go home
So Mamma-san says

You want to play mind-crazed banjo
On the druggy-drag ragtime U.S.A.?
In Parkland International
Hah! Junkiedom, U.S.A.
Where procaine proves the purest rock man groove
And rat poison
The volatile Molatov says

Pssst . . .
Hey chico, we got a message for you 
Vamos, vamos muchacho
From Alphabet City all the way, to Z, dead, head

Go straight to hell

Can you really cough it up loud and strong?
The immigrants
They want to sing all night long
It could be anywhere
Most likely could be any frontier
Any hemisphere
No man's land and there ain't no asylum here
King Solomon, he never lived around here

Go straight to hell, boys