Issachar Lyrics

Where's the wizzler, where's the corn? Get jacuzzi on the horn, where's the 
wizzler...Whatever happened to the mob? He had to quit and get a job. Road
manager, security, hangin' shirts and makin' tea. Where's the wizzler, where's
the corn? Near the elevator, is there porn? What a a man gotta deal wit! My 
head's not orange, cut the shit! Jack, Jack ca mi sey Jack Flanagan. Mi a go 
tell a likkie storie bout mi good bredren wa go by de name of Jack Flanagan.
It was a long time ago down a C.B.G.B. Mi look pon mi bredren name Docta 
Dready. Mi sey Docta D. who booked dis opening band. Mon in a 3 piece suit 
wit guitar ina im hand, ca mi sey Jack Flanagan. On the road and on the phone, 
roll up the window roll a bone. Rollin' a buck in a forty zone. Now settle up 
and head for home. He's Issachar now hear him roar. When he's lost his temper
find the door. It's almost always good to see him, he's one damn fine human 
being. Jack Flanagen. Mi bredren Bosstones dem naw slip dem naw miss Flanagen
im was di Mob guitarist nowadays he manage Reggae artist so when you wan get 
pin Micky Dread guest list Jack Flanagen him naw resist Jack Flanagen, Jack
Flanagen. Got us 'cross the border, helpin' hand when it began. Kept our shit
in order my man Jack Flanagen. In his town he'll hook you up, he'll show you
'round, he'll watch your back. When we head down we look him up and hang
around with Irish Jack. Much, much, much respect, in this world it's hard to 
find. A stand up guy who'll stand behind you if you're ever in a bind. My man
Jack he comes to mind.