Lyrics
Augusta, Georgia, late September
One Mr. Brown's hot tempered
This man's possessed, he's restless
Armed and dangerous, drugged and reckless
Mrs. Brown you've got a lovely son
But he's on the run on a shotgun mission
"Listen here cocksuckers, motherfuckers, pay respect to my building
It's JB property and it could be the one you get killed in."
Cops arrive, "What's this, what's happening
What's what, where's the hot shot?"
James pushed his luck too far this time
His pick-up truck's flat out and flying
Not now James we're busy
Not now James
Not now James
Non now Jams
We're busy
Not
Not
Not now James
Not
Not now James
We're busy
Cops get excited and grin with glee
They got themsevles a celebrity
Seven cars give chase "You're in the clear... this is the race of the year!"
"Faster Soul Master, they're coming at you from all directions
Speed's your protection... Don't look behind you 'til south Carolina"
Cops spring a roadblock "He ain't gonna stop!"
"He's gonna take a pop!"
"Let me get up and do my thing"
Not now James
We're busy
Not now James
We're busy
Not now James
We're busy
Not now James
Someone opens fire, the trucks front tyres are blown out
"Get the hell out!"...
A six mile skid, trapped in a ditch
In the lap of the FBI, the Secret Service
The Russians, "they're all in this, they're do it to James
Like they did it to Elvis"
"I wanna get in to it man you know"
Not now James
Not now James
We're busy
Not now James
We're busy
A "good-foot" dance in a dusted trance
Breath tested "No Chance!" Arrested!
"We're gonna do a song"
Not now James
We're busy
Not now James
Not, not not now James
We're busy
Not now James
We're busy
We're busy
