Rockets, moon shots
Spend it on the have nots
Money, we make it
'Fore we see it you take it
Oh, make you wanna holler
The way they do my life
Make me wanna holler.

All fast money, no slow bucks
No one can control us

Don't make me pump this bitch and unload,
Pack yo shit up nigga, hit the muthafuckin road.

It was you it was me it was every man
We've all got the blood on our hands
We only receive what we demand
and if we want hell then hells what we'll have.

I sell ice in the winter, I sell fire in hell
I am a hustler, baby, I'll sell water to a well

What passing bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.

I'm a very smart guy. I haven't a feeling or a scruple in the world. All I have the itch for is money. I am so money greedy that for twenty-five bucks a day and expenses, mostly gasoline and whiskey, I do my thinking myself, what there is of it; I risk my whole future, the hatred of the cops and of Eddie Mars and his pals. I dodge bullets and eat saps, and say thank you very much, if you have any more trouble, I hope you'll think of me, I'll just leave one of my cards in case anything comes up.

I want the money, the women, the fortune and fame
That means I end up burnin' in Hell, scorchin' in flame
That means I'm stealin' your checkbook and forgin' your name
This lifetime bliss for eternal torture and pain

We came down from the trees, up from the grasslands, and into an SUV. We drove. We motored. We headed for that Texas horizon, flat as the flat-line on a heart monitor, straight to the brink of extinction, all the while pumping gas.