Had a little bit to drink,
There's a little thing I want at a do out East.
Nothing too emotional, my good miss,
I couldn't be serious in a room full of jack-knife eyes.
Stop talking 'bout the years - you sound like Louis Burdett
And we roll on to my back shed,
Play some poker, scratch my head
Look at the sky and spot the planes
Where would I go on holidays?
Roll with the punches, down the aisles
And down the streets the weeks roll by.
I'm chewing ice and grinning
I'm spewing up and spinning,
It's billiousness as usual in my corner of the kitchen.
Hey you, lose that friend, before we go anywhere
What? Someone might see you alone?
Stop baggin' out the band
'Cause you sound like Louis Burdett.
And all my friends are fuck-ups
But they're fun to have around
Banana chairs out on the concrete,
Tellin' stories to the stars
How Geminis love wooden dragons
and how Down the streets the weeks roll by
The moment the night wears off
The bombsite reappears.
They're allasleep but the morning tastes like wine,
it tastes like wine in Tempe
I feel so good I, just might wake him up
Pat him on the bald head
Tell me bout a dream, Louis
Something obscene, Louis
You're life's an open magazine Louis
I'm stoned in a bookshop, sober in a nightclub
Sex is everywhere, but nowhere, nowhere 'round me.
By the time she gets to Marrickville we'll be masturbating
And the rains in Tempe but the planes reminds of family money
and the lack down here.
Stop talking frustrated,
'cause I sound like Louis Burdett
Most of my friends are very fruity indeed,
such fun to have around.
Terror, like charity, begins at home.
Chris, don't like madness, but madness likes him.
He's got a finger in his chest saying how it should have been.
Get This Ringtone
 
|
|
