Simone Felice - New York Times Lyrics
Eddie Blackbird, Eddie Blackbird, Eddie Blackbird, that's the Indian's nameOut in South Dakota, he stole a gold Range Rover and he drove it over, the empty plainsWhile Apache pilots hunt the River Tigress in the laughing silence of the desert nightAnd the price of cocaine, on a favourite ball game I read it all baby in the New York Times.A pervert from Jersey with a thirty-thirty, found them girls rehearsing in a ballet schoolAnd when he bust in and point his musket he turned their lilly white muslin into bright red bloomsSo as I read it here, on a coffee street pierYou know I can't help but hear them buildings fallAnd the way they came down, and way they jumped out,there's no baseball glove in townThat's gonna catch them all.So every New Year, we come to Times Square and we all howl there when the big ball drops.So don't trust your junk mail, don't touch the third rail, and baby don't' you dare hail the King of pop.Cos the day they found him and brought his body in, the things that Doctor did was enough to strike you blind.So me and my Lilly white lover, oh and all my brothers, never make the cover of the New York Times
