Whitlams, The lyrics

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 backshed, 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 street 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 bagging out the band, you sound like Louis Burdett All my friends are fuck-ups but they're fun to have around Banana chairs out on the concrete, telling stories to the stars how Gemini's love Wooden Dragons, and how down the street the weeks roll by The moment the night wears off, the bombsite reappears They're all asleep but the morning tastes like wine It tastes like wine in Tempe I feel so good I might just wake him up Pat him on the bald head-- tell me 'bout a dream Louis something obscene Louis Your life is an open magazine Louis I'm stoned in a bookshop, sober in a nightclub Sex is everywhere but nowhere 'round me By the time she gets to Marrickville we'll be masturbating never rains in Tempe but the planes remind me 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

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