Sick A.m. - Witheren Lyrics
By: Admin | Artist: W witheren | Published: 2024-21-09T23:59:09:00+07:00Lirikku.ID - Sick A.m. - Witheren Lyrics: Halo Lirikku.ID, Dalam konten ini, kami menyediakan chord gitar untuk lagu "Sick A.m. - Witheren Lyrics" yang dinyanyikan oleh Toton W witheren. 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 Sick A.m. - Witheren Lyrics Berikut Dibawah ini untuk Selanjutnya.
“i don’t have pet peeves, i have major psychotic f*cking hatreds, okay?” (george carlin)
a current flows through nerves of copper
my rent’s off to some idyll
with more credit cards than credibility
and i’m up at six a.m. drinking coffee…
staring into sp*ce
a pinup’s *rs*
in my face
beg your pardon ma’am
and god d*mn the t*ss*r
who put you up there
let’s make this clear:
i’m sick of every pr*ck
in the locker room
if i don’t stop the sh*t
maybe i’m part of it
but my colleagues aren’t my comrades
and i’m counting down the days
’til i leave here with expletives
see ya, gobsh*tes on laxatives
guess i’ll never have the nerve
to say what i think you deserve
to hear. sure thing
i can’t see you can’t see
past your posturing
but neither macho stance
or deference
will save your neck
we all finish wrecked
tossed to the trash
shattered glass and flaked ash
while the radio anchor farts the news
he says what he likes
’cause they like what he chooses
to say
writing wrongs and wronging our rights
’til the day
the electrics go down all over town
power cords jump from their walls
the powerful run for their halls
and palaces, flee the masses
doors slammed in our faces
you’ll end your days on a back porch
but not your own, pipe in hand
rather stranded among the scorched
bodies piled before
the last bunker’s fastened hatch
strike your last match
in a smouldering crippled land we once called earth
disease and hunger competing to get you first
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