Portugal. The Man
Guns... Guns... Guns
Where have all the people gone Whose lives are no longer of use to them But this system bites habit forming But this single file is so contagious But black eyes breed gossip Like these perverse and perversions alike Hibernate while you're still young But you are getting older So much older So much older than you think Crank the tap. Itch. Brimming with suspicions The burrows are brimming with suspicions Where have all the people gone Whose guns are gold cold son of a bitch He's says, ?I'll travel anywhere I like I'll travel anywhere I please.?
The priest's on the boat And hell is on its way
Aus Songtexte Mania