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Secondhand Smoke - Sean mcconnell Lyrics


By: Admin | Artist: S sean mcconnell | Published: 2024-30-09T18:36:49:00+07:00
Secondhand Smoke - Sean mcconnell LyricsLirikku.ID - Secondhand Smoke - Sean mcconnell Lyrics: Halo Lirikku.ID, Dalam konten ini, kami menyediakan chord gitar untuk lagu "Secondhand Smoke - Sean mcconnell Lyrics" yang dinyanyikan oleh Toton S sean mcconnell. Dengan chord yang disajikan, pemula atau penggemar musik dapat dengan mudah memainkan lagu ini dengan gitar mereka sendiri. Kami menyajikan chord dengan akurasi tinggi sehingga pemain dapat mengikuti alunan musiknya dengan baik. Juga, kami akan memberikan informasi tambahan mengenai lirik lagu dan mungkin beberapa tips untuk menyempurnakan permainan gitar. Konten ini cocok untuk penggemar musik yang ingin belajar lagu baru atau bagi mereka yang ingin menikmati kesenangan bermain musik dengan gitar. Silahkan disimak Secondhand Smoke - Sean mcconnell Lyrics Berikut Dibawah ini untuk Selanjutnya.

when i put my leather wallet on the dash
when the radio plays crosby, stills & nash
when i’m laughing til i’m crying at a joke
when i smell the scent of secondhand smoke

i go right back riding shotgun in a gold sedan
nineteen eighty-something, me and my old man
the crinkle of the cellophane
the crackle of tobacco flame
the stories that he told me as he held it in his hand

we met up in new york city yesterday
we had seven years of things we had to say
he had seven years of silence on his face
i tried seven, eight times, seven, to erase

we stepped out onto the street to change the scene
and he pulled a pack of spirits from his jeans
i said “what happened to the good ol’ marlboro lites?”
he just cracked a smile

and i went right back riding shotgun in a gold sedan
nineteen eighty-something, me and my old man
the crinkle of the cellophane
the crackle of tobacco flame
the stories that he told me as he held it in his hand

when i don’t know what we are, i still have what we were
i might just light one up tonight, let it burn

and go right back riding shotgun in a gold sedan
nineteen eighty-something, me and my old man
the crinkle of the cellophane
the crackle of tobacco flame
the stories that he told me as he held it in his hand


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