Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Chris Stein
Guitar
Clement Burke
Drums
Deborah Harry
Vocals
Frank Infante
Guitar
Jimmy Destri
Keyboards
Nigel Harrison
Bass
Tom Scott
Saxophone
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Chris Stein
Songwriter
Deborah Harry
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Lenise Bent
Engineer
Doug Schwartz
Assistant Engineer
Gary Boatner
Assistant Engineer
Kevin Bartley
Mastering Engineer
Mike Chapman
Producer
Kevin Flaherty
Reissue Producer
Lyrics
Toe to toe, dancing very close
Barely breathing, almost comatose
Wall to wall, people hypnotized
And they're stepping lightly
Hang each night in rapture
Back to back, sacroiliac
Spineless movement and a wild attack
Face to face, sightless solitude
And it's finger popping
24-hour shopping in rapture
Fab 5 Freddy told me everybody's fly
DJ spinnin', I said, "My, My"
Flash is fast, Flash is cool
François c'est pas, flashé no deux
And you don't stop, sure shot
Go out to the parking lot
And you get in your car and drive real far
And you drive all night, and then you see a light
And it comes right down and it lands on the ground
And out comes a man from Mars
And you try to run, but he's got a gun
And he shoots you dead, and he eats your head
And then you're in the man from Mars
You go out at night, eatin' cars
You eat Cadillacs, Lincolns, too
Mercurys and Subaru
And you don't stop, you keep on eatin' cars
Then, when there's no more cars, you go out at night
And eat up bars where the people meet
Face to face, dance cheek to cheek
One to one, man to man
Dance toe to toe, don't move too slow
'Cause the man from Mars is through with cars
He's eatin' bars, yeah, wall to wall
Door to door, hall to hall
He's gonna eat 'em all
Rapture, be pure
Take a tour through the sewer
Don't strain your brain, paint a train
You'll be singin' in the rain
Said, don't stop to punk rock
Man to man, body muscular
Seismic decibel, bite the jugular
Wall to wall, tea time technology
And a digital ladder
No sign of bad luck in rapture
Well, now you see what you wanna be
Just have your party on TV
'Cause the man from Mars
Won't eat up bars where the TV's on
Now he's gone back up to space
Where he won't have a hassle with the human race
And you hip-hop, and you don't stop
Just blast off, sure shot
'Cause the man from Mars stopped eatin' cars
And eatin' bars and now he only eats guitars, get up
Written by: Chris Stein, Debbie Harry