MARKETLAND

Market Town.
What a doozy walking round with all these putrid people everywhere.
"Youíve gotta buy this!"
screams a whiskey stinkin' vermin vendor holding up a rotten pear.


But I hold on to my dollar,
looking all around me.
In this place, I hide my face,
but dirty people hound me.


Market Street.
I could use a bite to eat,
but I donít want to buy a whole raw fish, no...
No, not a blanket.
Yes, itís lovely, but Iím hungry,
and thatís really not my favorite dish.


So I hold on to my moolah,
my mazuma, money.
Thereís no trash thatís worth my cash.
It all just smells too funny.


In Marketland...
You can buy whatís in demand
fifteen years ago, wow.
In Marketland...
All the world is in your hand.
Iíd go wash it off now.


Market Lane.
Either Iím going insane,
or thereís an urchin hawking book reports.
Oh, thatís a new one.
Some old guy with just one eye's
selling his obviously soiled shorts.


But I hold on to my dollar,
looking all around me.
In this place, I hide my face,
but dirty people hound me.


Market Hell.
Thereís no food too old to sell.
There is no merchandise too urine-stained.
ďYouíve gotta buy this!Ē
scream the whiskey stinkin' vermin vendors.
Well, at least Iím entertained.


Still I hold on to my moolah,
my mazuma, money.
Thereís no trash thatís worth my cash.
It all just smells too funny.


In Marketland...
You can buy whatís in demand
fifteen years ago, wow.
In Marketland...
All the world is in your hand.
Iíd go wash it off now.


In Marketland...
You can buy whatís in demand
fifteen years ago, wow.
In Marketland...
All the world is in your hand.
Iíd go wash it off now.