cobra... cobra... cobra... dead weight cobra... cobra... cobra...
the world gets dropped, left covered in rust we'll rule it with an iron fist behind a drum beat again it's all over you motherfuckers the moral to story is shit to a rug two fingers up if judgement comes and one keg stand for Satan
weak hearted sorry fakers, in times of danger they just fold up and run if you are, you are dead weight
cobra... cobra... cobra... dead weight cobra... cobra... cobra...
infection spread like iron to rust the cure for the disease like chain links surrounded me sometimes they are
weak hearted sorry fakers, in times of danger they just fold up and run if you are, you are dead weight
and we might just show the world the hopeless anger in us every other day is just more time to kill we want to wake to find the sound in aching waves from our hearts nevertheless, we're just staring at a wall manners, missed conscience! where are you now left staring at a wall
before that sound forces us to stop, drop, and run, hear me now or watch the bodies pile
weak hearted sorry fakers, in times of danger they just fold up and run if you are, you are dead weight
when all the monumentous lecherous imitations you pull off start wearing off to show what you are if you are, you are dead weightTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
