When the feeling comes it always leaves, To the top of the hill, the hill of thieves. Brush that curious out. Hurry away. You've got the hole in your head to feel the breeze. If you're gonna ride, baby, Ride the wild horse. I can't drink no more, But I'll try. You can't find me, baby, In the basement. And I'll slug you in your fucking head. If you're gonna ride, baby, Ride the wild horse. We can't drink no more, But we'll try. You can't find us, baby, In the basement. And we'll slug you in your fucking head.