Оригинален текст
It was 1906, but we screwed the timeline up.
It wasn't just for kicks but I'm afraid that the jig is up.
I tramped through time at the count of jump
Smashed the past and messed the whole thing up,
Now there's nothing left but Post-Apocalypse Punk.
Tried makin' a buck but we could barely even stay aloft.
Tried to swing a deal but we pissed the wrong guys off.
A clock-work guitar and a flintlock bass,
We're blasting the past all over the place,
And now there's nothing left but Post-Apocalypse Punk.
Just when we thought we had won, we were back to the start again.
With no wind in our sails and the doldrums settin' in.
Now I'm covered in grease from my head to toes,
Slappin' the iron, but the engines froze,
And there's nothing left but Post-Apocalypse Punk.
It was 1906, but we screwed the timeline up.
It wasn't just for kicks but I'm afraid that the jig is up.
I tramped through time at the count of jump
Smashed the past and messed the whole thing up,
Now there's nothing left but Post-Apocalypse Punk.