I can't get anything done With you shaking around like that I can't take if off for fun With that animal on your back Animal, animal Animal, animal Animal, animal
Перевод: Колоть. Животных.
Куплет 1 Кто мы? Карикатуры! Шум голосов для партитуры. Жизнью сором выброшенные на землю дуры Дураки, рабы... Возомнившие себя царями, Нарезаем
the professor And feel that I should know What makes her come and what makes her stay? What make the animal run, run away and What makes him tick apart from him prick
This song is dedicated to all the brothers out there Who've ever loved a woman whether it was your mother Whether it was a lover or whether it was your
love when trouble comes your way, your way, your way. Verse 1: Welcome to Hackney, a place where I think somebody's been playing Jumanji. A Manor where man are like animals
C-c-check, yo Real sick hearing these pricks talk shit They get there throats slit 'coz they talkin' to me like I'm thick And I'm real tired of these
I feel that I should know What makes her come and what makes her stay? What make the animal run, run away? And what makes him tick apart from his prick
professor and feel that I should know What makes her come and what makes her stay? What make the animal run, run away and What makes him tick apart from his prick
summon by candle by book and by bell glossolalia coats my skin glycerin and turbulence stuffed the voice inside of god mirrors to the animals the sermon goes mourning pricking
me sleep. There's nothing quite so pure as the written word my dear, so lets have ourselves a little poem. Until the will to speak loses urgency. Our animal
and an over-priced gift-shop a?? you didn't have fun if you didn't buy the t-shirt. Paying through the nose so you can prick-tease your animal instincts
You have no soul you have no heart You'd chase an animal to see it torn apart Blood junky you're full of shit You want a kicking? you'll fuckin' get it
Chorus I need a healing for my soul So give me a healing for my soul I need a healing for my soul So give me a healing for my soul (just for my soul
meadows he rambled busily, Finding everywhere birds building, flowers budding, leaves thrusting everything happy, and progressive, and occupied. And instead of having an uneasy conscience pricking
Che Che Che Che Check Yo, Real sick hearing these pricks talk shit They get there throats slit coz they talkin to me like im thick And im, Real tired
You love when trouble comes your way, your way, your way. Verse 1 Welcome to Hackney, a place where I think somebody's been playing Jumanji. A Manor where man are like animals
