Lyrics
Tracks in his arm made him a man, No-one could understand. Each night he'd go out shooting skag, Met a pusher who sold him a bag.
That's why he was . Dead on arrival . .
Ran out of money so he stole a car, tried to run but didn't get far. Sent to prison, no turning back, saw his arm, weaned him off smack.
Out on parole tried to keep calm, finally died with a needle in his arm. Yes out on parole, tried to keep calm, finally died with a needle in his arm.