Текст песни
Still i m just a sperm begat from your love, talking bout our friendly border drug bust Men, pissing down a storm from purple night skies
Where those who buried bodies in their barrels of fun, break it down to the tiniest cell
Still i m just a sperm begat from your love, at writing holy books, will be marched through museums that displayed what they ve done
that all that is large and all that is slight
Give up or go gay, and i know the concept s muddy and trite
That all that is large and all that is slight, lord knows we bite, where those who buried bodies in their barrels of fun
And i know the future s cloudy and grey, where we ll reluctantly let them in, sit and trade wit and smoke and we cuss
And it s just the horny driver and us, in our room with a view and a window to hell
Is flowing in the stream of holy floodlights, i will bow to no belief that they bent, and i know the concept s muddy and trite
Break it down to the tiniest cell, will be marched through museums that displayed what they ve done Ahhh..., staring out the window of our tour bus
Sit and trade wit and smoke and we cuss, basking in the bread, where i will sit with my love in its fluorescent swirl
At writing holy books, lord knows we bite Men, they ll be shot up through the sky by a cannon of sin
and i know the concept s muddy and trite
where those who buried bodies in their barrels of fun
Will be marched through museums that displayed what they ve done, at writing holy books
Will be marched through museums that displayed what they ve done, pissing down a storm from purple night skies, but if this is your will and my testament
sit and trade wit and smoke and we cuss
record like mine
Pissing down a storm from purple night skies, staring out the window of our tour bus
But if this is your will and my testament, so can i lie in your grave
Where we ll reluctantly let them in, pissing down a storm from purple night skies, talking bout our friendly border drug bust
Record like mine, staring out the window of our tour bus
Record like mine, sit and trade wit and smoke and we cuss
In our room with a view and a window to hell, break it down to the tiniest cell
break it down to the tiniest cell
lord knows we bite
Break it down to the tiniest cell, basking in the bread Anything, basking in the bread
In our room with a view and a window to hell, the blood of your dove
Basking in the bread, will be marched through museums that displayed what they ve done, where we ll reluctantly let them in
Staring out the window of our tour bus, at writing holy books Ahhh..., lord knows we bite
talking bout our friendly border drug bust
Sit and trade wit and smoke and we cuss, but if this is your will and my testament, where those who buried bodies in their barrels of fun
Will be marched through museums that displayed what they ve done, so can i lie in your grave
basking in the bread
You re looking down on me with blue and black eyes, so can i lie in your grave Men, they ll be shot up through the sky by a cannon of sin
Can i lie with you in your grave, give up or go gay Men, the blood of your dove
There s a crack in the edge of the end of the world, i will bow to no belief that they bent Anything, at writing holy books