Russell's new uptight trust-fund princess reigns Stares down her coke-burned nose and sets new rules Forbids his listening to punk rock music Tried to burn his copy of The People's History
His face is blank, bloodless, inexpressive, All passion drained by the unhallowed leech
Last Call for Russell's Balls The Demon must be fed Last Call for Russell's Balls They're hanging by a thread
Russell says it's true love more like sick games A bitter brawl at midnight in the street Some cars have stopped to watch the loud commotion Laughing at the wicked witch of West Hollywood
Strings held tight a dancing marionette doll A painted smile on a wooden face
Last Call...
A phone call woke up Russ in the middle of the night As she reached down his trousers with sharp scissors And a light Caught the blades before the amputation was complete It seems the rearview mirror's where she would've Hung the meat
Born-again with pride, Russ hands her the broomstick Says it's time for her to fly away forever...
Last Call saved Russell's balls The Demon's face turned red Smoke shot out her ears When he kicked her of bed
He saved himself this time From the evil bride-to-be So clearly serpentine Now she's just a memoryTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
