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!