here come the man from the star we don t know why he go so far and keep on marching along beating his drum thugs and sticks and bats and balls for nuclear dicks with dialect drawls they come from a parking lot town where nothing lives in the sun don t make me a target don t make me a target when you reach back in his mind feels like he s breaking the law there s something back there he got that nobody knows he never claimed to say what he says he smells like the inside of closets upstairs the kind where nobody goes don t make me a target don t make me a target don t make me a target don t make me a target don t make me a target