Look at you with your bitter pen
And your pocketful of names
I’m sorry that your Daddy’s dead
But you’re a bastard all the same
Put your mouth where your money is
Put a bullet in your brain

Look at you with your sweaty shirt
And your suitcase in the hall
I’m sorry that she kept the kids
But the grafitti’s on the wall.
Put your mouth where your money is
Put a bullet in your brain

Poor little commissar, where have your comrades gone?
Poor little commissar, where have your comrades gone?
Poor little commissar, where have your comrades gone?
Poor little commissar, where have your comrades gone?

You’re a whiskey tramp in oversized boots
Disguised as a learned man
You’re a sheep in rebel’s clothing,
You’re the not to my I am
Put your mouth where your money is
Put a bullet in your brain

Watching the days turning blue
Drinking the dreams from your shoe
Reading the leaves in your beer
Baby, it’s all down hill from here

Watching the days turning blue
Drinking the dreams from your shoe
Reading the leaves in your beer
Baby, it’s all down hill from here

Poor little commissar, where have your comrades gone?
Poor little commissar, where have your comrades gone?
Poor little commissar, where have your comrades gone?
Poor little commissar, where have your comrades gone?