Paroles Roses de Spit

Textes et Paroles de Roses

Things are comin' up roses
But I can't stand the smell
I can't get this taste out of my mouth

Now I'm eatin' the breakfast of champions
Post Nasal Drip
I'm being fed through a straw of moral astriction

And don't smile - it's a turnoff
And don't flinch - when it burns

'Cause they'll know you're weak
And I'll know you're weak
And I just might...Tell them

Now I'll sit right down in the back of the bus
And talk out loud
About being young and so well hung
And just a little proud

Now I don't beg for mercy and I don't plead
A little fear is all I need
From the bowel to the bowl
You can smell my rotting soul

Drill a hole in my skull
Vacuum the blood off my brain
Someone blew out the candles on my urinal cake

Harry Harlow and Harry Carey
Bring on the reaper it's harvest time
It's time I take the law in my hands

Come on, torch that broken down barnacle barge
Coat that carcass with pus discharge
You're just another weak link in the chain
You can change your mind
But you can't change your brain

Do you hear me laughin', I don't think so
People don't know when it's time to quit
Like my daddy always told me when I was a boy
You can shit where you eat
But don't eat where you shit

Sigmund Fraud and Sigmund Freud
I guess that's why I'm paranoid
Grab a hold of your seat
The plot starts to thicken
It takes a lickin' and keeeps on stickin'

Now I'm strolling down the dusty psychopath
Caught in the belly of a spiritual blood bath
Foolish things confound the wise man
Hit and run in a black sedan

Aaah, let's have our own battle of the bulge, baby

Take a ride on a public succubus
Hit and run, hit and run
Crushed by a mental incubus
Spit and run, spit and run

The sky turned black, and so did my soul
A one way trip from the bowel the bowl
Gonna piss my name in the snow, snow
Up, up, up and away we go

The gourmet fed me poison, poison
The rat fink gave me cheese, cheese
WHy don't you stand up and fight like a mannequin

Helen Kellyer, Hellenistic
The Greeks always did like it up the butt
Ambush your bush, Snatch up your snatch
Shake that ass you little slut

The last thing I heard was fifty car horns
My Christmas wreath became a crown of thorns
I never should have let e e cummings write my resume

Things are coming up roses
But I can't stand the smell

C'était les paroles de Roses
Voir les autres titres de Spit.