Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Gold Chains, artist - Beck. Date of issue: 17.06.1996
Song language: English
Gold Chains |
| People lookin' fresh in their lightning bones |
| Had the T.B. |
| Blues, I couldn’t find no phones |
| Women driving down in their whipflash rides |
| Had a wooden nickel finger pointing from all sides |
| Tryin' to get together into some kind of scene |
| I shook my spice last Sunday like a broken machine |
| I got 50-foot woofers and I’m lonesome tonight |
| I put my hands in the air like a hazard light |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains |
| (What's your name? Cheetah and Tammy.) |
| Stealin' my water from an empty well |
| I got birds of life and a chain gang bell |
| Smokin' cigarettes like an ass in the road |
| I got debutantes with the elephant’s gold |
| Feast and famines all holding their hands |
| Filling in the blanks with swollen glands |
| Draggin' my heels down the vericose veins |
| Paradise landlords swingin' their chains |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains |
| People lookin' fresh in their lightning bones |
| Had the T.B. |
| Blues, I couldn’t find no phones |
| Women driving down in their whipflash rides |
| Had a wooden nickel finger pointing from all sides |
| Tryin' to get together into some kind of scene |
| I shook my spice last Sunday like a broken machine |
| I got 50-foot woofers and I’m lonesome tonight |
| I put my hands in the air like a hazard light |
| I’m going back home with my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home with my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home with my gold chains |
| People lookin' fresh in their lightning bones |
| Had the T.B. |
| Blues, I couldn’t find no phones |
| Women driving down in their whipflash rides |
| Had a wooden nickel finger pointing from all sides |
| Tryin' to get together into some kind of scene |
| I shook my spice last Sunday like a broken machine |
| I got 50-foot woofers and I’m lonesome tonight |
| I put my hands in the air like a hazard light |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains |
| (What's your name? Cheetah and Tammy.) |
| Stealin' my water from an empty well |
| I got birds of life and a chain gang bell |
| Smokin' cigarettes like an ass in the road |
| I got debutantes with the elephant’s gold |
| Feast and famines all holding their hands |
| Filling in the blanks with swollen glands |
| Draggin' my heels down the vericose veins |
| Paradise landlords swingin' their chains |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home |
| With my gold chains |
| People lookin' fresh in their lightning bones |
| Had the T.B. |
| Blues, I couldn’t find no phones |
| Women driving down in their whipflash rides |
| Had a wooden nickel finger pointing from all sides |
| Tryin' to get together into some kind of scene |
| I shook my spice last Sunday like a broken machine |
| I got 50-foot woofers and I’m lonesome tonight |
| I put my hands in the air like a hazard light |
| I’m going back home with my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home with my gold chains swinging |
| I’m going back home with my gold chains |