Your crawfish fingers and your dirty dregs
Your sideways stingers and your wooden legs
They're throwing out jewels like rotten eggs
'Cause it's Christmas in Siam
And we're rough on rats

Your scarecrow spiders and your shipwreck bones
The fossilized bibles of Geronimo Jones
His star spangled army in their roadhouse clothes
'Cause a hero can't bronze his soul
And we're rough on rats

There's shattered glass on the dance floor
A cop chaperoning a doll
The testament of a landlord
Who's living in a hollow log

The burlap flowers and the cocaine dirt
The horn of plenty in a desert of hurt
The corduroy boy in the killjoy shirt
He's a stereotype on ice
And we're rough on rats

So what do you think you could take from the heap
Where the haystack needles are piled up cheap?
You can buy what's useless and steal what you need
In the pink penitentiary
And we're rough on rats