Here on the streets of Marlboro town you can hear the beat
Of a dozen drums as sand in the hourglass quickens its pace
To keep everyone in their right place in smoke-filled bars,
Inhaling tar and nicotine. It’s a sham and a shame, but no
One can blame anyone ~ hell! they still do ~ with pistols
In leather holsters, the weather outside is too damn cold
To abide, so someone buys another round, so you’re bound
To get drunk, sink deeper into funk here in Marlboro town.
You see, when the sun goes down on the town, if you can
Reach the teacher-preacher in search of forgiveness, but
Nothing is forgotten in this hell-hole where you sold your
Precious soul for two bits and another role of the dice;
Nice! But now you’ll pay any price for redemption to avoid
Execution in the revolution against the evolution of your
Heart, so dark; so you mark the time till midnight chimes
Amidst all the gunk and grime in the blight of a miserable
Little town called Marlboro, with dusty streets, rhythmic
Beats, as fire heats alcohol room after room for your doom.
Welcome one and all to Marlboro town!