Wolf City
You are a pearl without pity
Your glory is
Like ice cream
Dripping on the skin of a girl

And your voodoo-graph is going
To conquer the world
While the greyhound leans back
In the president's chair
And thousands of children
On their way home
Gasp for fresh air

Your servants set up
A lean-horse-monument
In the alley of cars
A queue with no end
And thousands of cows
Rush into bars

On a wall I see
Many strange signs
They say: Johnny B. Goode!