Private Eye a la Mode

My name's Sam Club
I'm a private detective in a city that wants to crush me.
Last night I killed ten men --
with only six bullets
and a pack of cigarettes.
If the rain doesn't stop
I'm going to kill myself.
Eight shots of whiskey puts me to sleep.
Number nine wakes me up.
I've never felt so alive as when the four door mercury
tried to run me down.
Another notch in my belt.
Another belt in the lip.
The heat is so bad at night
I sleep with my head in the fridge.
Even beer tastes like sweat.
I could kill somebody and use their body as a floor mat,
but I got an appointment tomorrow.
Between the rain, the heat and the landlady's barking dog . . .
well, I guess I shouldn't have busted the radio.
I wanna walk tonight but the city streets
run like sewers and coil like serpents.
This town wants me dead
and I don't blame it . . .