How are you handling this heat?
I hear it's murder in the street
Where every little player's got
The fire held to his feet
Now that supply is growing thin
I think you'd better toss the towel in
Then back away sonny
From the game you cannot win
You'd better walk away sonny
When the red tide rushes in
You and these gringos have a plan
But you can't pull it off, nobody can
You're moving in the shadows
With the poison in your hands
Every mother in the city cries a bit
When another little Teddy-Boy gets hit
Headlines in the morning
For the son who could not quit
Red tide in the morning
Took the son who did not fit
