Run Run Run Lyrics

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Teenage Mary said to Uncle Dave
I sold my soul, must be saved
Gonna take a walk down to Union Square
You never know who you're gonna find there
You gotta run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run
Gypsy Death and you
Tell you whatcha do
Marguerita Passion had to get her fix
She wasn't well, she was getting sick
Went to sell her soul, she wasn't high
Didn't know, thinks she could buy it
And she would run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run
Gypsy Death and you
Tell you whatcha do
Seasick Sarah had a golden nose
Hobnail boots wrapped around her toes
When she turned blue, all the angels screamed
They didn't know, they couldn't make the scene
She had to run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run
Gypsy Death and you
Tell you whatcha do
Beardless Harry, what a waste
Couldn't even get a small-town taste
Rode the trolleys down to forty-seven
Figured he was good to get himself to heaven
'Cause he had to run, urn, run, run, run Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run
Gypsy Death and you
Tell you whatcha do

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Run Run Run Lyrics

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Teenage Mary said to Uncle Dave  
I sold my soul, must be saved  
Gonna take a walk down to Union Square  
You never know who you're gonna find there  
You gotta run, run, run, run, run  
Take a drag or two  
Run, run, run, run, run  
Gypsy Death and you  
Tell you whatcha do  
Marguerita Passion had to get her fix  
She wasn't well, she was getting sick  
Went to sell her soul, she wasn't high  
Didn't know, thinks she could buy it  
And she would run, run, run, run, run  
Take a drag or two  
Run, run, run, run, run  
Gypsy Death and you  
Tell you whatcha do  
Seasick Sarah had a golden nose  
Hobnail boots wrapped around her toes  
When she turned blue, all the angels screamed  
They didn't know, they couldn't make the scene  
She had to run, run, run, run, run  
Take a drag or two  
Run, run, run, run, run  
Gypsy Death and you  
Tell you whatcha do  
Beardless Harry, what a waste  
Couldn't even get a small-town taste  
Rode the trolleys down to forty-seven  
Figured he was good to get himself to heaven  
'Cause he had to run, urn, run, run, run Take a drag or two  
Run, run, run, run, run  
Gypsy Death and you  
Tell you whatcha do

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