He spoke a scriptnDipped in the sort of talk to make you keep at baynIt�s all a tricknThe slicked back slimy arms have got a war to wagennHe�s got a laugh like a crackling wirenAnd he wants to put the bite marks on younHe wants to put the bite marks on younAnd you twist my gutsnnAs the only thing as repelling as his invitationsnOf a dusky serfnAnd he said �I am the conductor,nPut me in a terror pocket�nnHe never slippednMaster in a craft he swept through respectablenDrop a dirty hint if he thinks that he could impress you with the unacceptablennAnd he has turned through all the pages with his fingersnAnd covered them with goonAnd he wants to put the bite marks on younHe wants to put them on you and it hurts my backnnAs the only thing that�s as heavy as the adorationnIs the days of hanging out on the townnAnd it�s been a long time aroundnAnd he frightened me to death when he saidn�I am the conductor,nPut me in a terror pocket�nnCause he�s trying to give me a ticket to a competitionnAnd I don�t know why the odds are stackednAs he�s rolling out the running track