Tekst:
Last night I heard 3 real loud ricochetsFrom the police tech center at the top of my streetAnd then the morning after, brass band in unisonJumping, shouting, all 3000Meanwhile I've been broke in twiceAnd had a maniac at door, swearing, 12:05 amAnd I really think this computer thing is getting out of handAnd I think this tech pilot isn't going to landThree quarters of mail destined for beerTime to put an end, to the extendAll the bump menTime we cake thisCompute garbage in, garbage outAnd time to put a cap on thisWith a brain, nice habitAnd I'm thinkin of(track is desertedAll securities run forth of the perverted)Isn't gonna landOn it's purgatory bandAuto tech pilotIsn't gonna landJet isn't gonna landTroll the instant pilotAuto tech pilotIsn't gonna land
