She walks beneath a presley stare. Swivel hips a smile. Pissed on morning charm. Shaves her head with a lawnmower. Her toenails painted Jesus blood. Her facial cake is mud. Chloroform and girl. Strolled to the barstool, grabbed the pole. I heard her saying "As I was walking. Yes, I was talking looking for the sunset to give me nothing. I will hold you tight. Five drinks later, stumbling in the moonlight."
Club stupid is a ginger house. The bar a welfare line I think we'll start with gin. Then to scotch with a soda chase. Slide across the marble floor. Through a pair of doors. Volvo release a purr. Back on garbage. A U-turn. I will hold you tight, eight drinks later speeding in the lamplight.
The squid I say I am the world. Swank as heat my style. Polished wingtip. Whirl. Stiletto sticking hairspray curl. Sixty-two a year for you. Drinks and drugs go round. My mind a razor blade. Rusty maybe, but fair today.
I will hold you tight, ten drinks later dangling on a clothesline.
Ya.
"I'm still waiting for Ron Wood to join us on this one." - CrossovertureTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
