Fugitive

Cut Throat
American Nightmare
Fugitive
[car engin]
One hand on the steering wheel
The other on a forty five
A hundred miles an hour
With tombstones in his eyes'
Smokes his last cigarette
And looks in the rear view mirror
Alone on this desert road
He feels it drawing nearer
The fugitive
The fugitive
Hes alwase on the run
They call it skinny justice
They call it murder one
The fugitive
The fugitive
Hes alwase on the run
They call it skinny justice
They call it murder one
Its just about midnight
As he croses the state line
If he just reache the border
He knows he'll be just fine
Man out on the radio
Is running out of time
Bid to do the punnishment
You know he'll do the time
The fugitive
The fugitive
Hes alwase on the run
They call it skinny justice
They call it murder one
The fugitive
The fugitive
Hes alwase on the run
They call it skinny justice
Thet call it murder one
A few more miles to freedom
Their is no time to waste
All the beads of sweat
Runnin down his face
Then theirs something in his face
Shattered by the sound
Of sires and gun fire
Comming from all around
One hand on the steering wheel
One on his forty five
Their ain't no way in hell
Their taking him alive
As he lay their bleeding
Holding a smokeing gun
As long as their are others like him
DON'T THINK THAT YOU HAVE WON
The fugitive
The fugitive
Hes alwase on the run
They call it skinny justice
They call it murder one
The fugitive
The fugitive
Hes alwase on the run
They call it skinny justice
They call it murder one
The fugitive
The fugitive
Hes alwase on the run
They call it skinny justice
They call it murder one
They call it murder one
They call it murder one
They call it murder one