They Want My Soul

Let's go get out in the street Somebody's gotta Let's get the stars to align For lambs to slaughter In the photographs Their eyes make a signal path And the feeling goes on and on and on and on and on And on and on and on Don't it feel like Friday night? Cars are all lined up Let it go push you around Oh, what's it amount to? Card sharks and street preachers want my soul Upsellers and palm readers want my soul Post sermon socialites Park enchanters and skin tights All they want's my soul Yeah, they want my soul In the photograph Your eyes make a signal path And the feeling goes on and on and on and on and on And on and on and on Let's go lose track of time Somebody's gotta Let's get the stars to align For lambs to slaughter Educated folk singers want my soul Jonathon Fisk still wants my soul I got nothing I want to say to 'em They got nothing left that I want All they want's my soul Yes, yes, I know it They want my soul They want my soul Oh ah, want my soul Oh ah, they want my soul Oh ah, they want my soul