at the end of the lane
there's a house in gloomy yellow
where freaks come and go
to make their days seem mellow
they've got stains on the walls
and beds all down the hall
they all scream out for more
as a man walks through the door
he's carrying a silver box
with diamonds and other drugs
watch his sticky fingers go down
surrounds himself with orange peels
and women wearing high heels
pray that he don't come your way
you better break it up
break it up
break it up
you better leave your head in a thunderstorm
wave your arms till the night is gone
you better leave your head in a thunderstorm
wave your arms till the break of dawn
the poor old freaks are chained like beasts
to do whatever this devil please
they don't stand a chance
‘cause he don't care about what you've seen
or where you've been or what you've dreamed
you better run away fast
you better break it up
break it up
break it up
you better leave your head in a thunderstorm
wave your arms till the night is gone
you better leave your head in a thunderstorm
wave your arms till the break of dawn
you better leave your head in a thunderstorm
wave your arms till the night is gone
you better leave your head in a thunderstorm
you better raise your hands child