Robert's got a quick hand
He'll look around the room
He won't tell you his plan
He's got a rolled cigarette
Hanging out his mouth
He's a cowboy kid
Yeah he found a six-shooter gun
In his dad's closet, in the box of fun things
I don't even know what
But he's coming for you, yeah he's coming for you
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks
You better run, better run, outrun my gun
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks
You better run, better run, faster than my bullet
Daddy works a long day
He be coming home late, and he's coming home late
And he's bringing me a surprise
'Cause dinner's in the kitchen and it's packed in ice
I've waited for a long time
Yeah the sleight of my hand is now a quick-pull trigger
I reason with my cigarette
Then say, "Your hair's on fire, you must've lost your wits, yeah?"
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks
You better run, better run, outrun my gun
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks
You better run, better run, faster than my bullet
Run, run, run, run, ru-ru-ru-run, run, run
Ru-ru-ru-run, run, run, run
Ru-ru-ru-run, run, run, run, run, run
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks
You better run, better run, outrun my gun
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks
You better run, better run, faster than my bullet