One, two, three, four, five, six...
It's bad enough you ever
Me, in your back garden
With my Walkman tucked inside my
One! Two! Three! Four!
One! Two! Three! Four!
One! Two! Three! Four!
Any
Broken down like a war economy
Father Führer, don't be mad
We know that we could sell your magazines
If only you
You expected my war diaries
But time ran out and I,
And every sentence that I spoke began and ended in
You said "send me stationary to make me horny"
So I
Oh, when the smaller picture's the same
as the bigger picture
I hate the stench of coffee on your breath
And I
I was sick in my mouth because of the fear
The beats, yeah, they were coming out the speakers
and
