| count of three
|
| everybody over dose
|
| Theyў‚¬"ўre coming with
|
| forks and knives to eat us alive,
|
| forks and knives.
|
| Victims in
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| cannibalistic
|
| human race
|
| proprietors
|
| dog eat dog
|
| colonization, dog eat dog.
|
| We sluts, we have, fattened and ripened in these
|
| LA castles. |
| We rust in the milk that weў‚¬"ўve been fed
|
| (stick ourselves with syringes and
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| scrape our lungs with dollar bills)
|
| We sluts, we have, fattened and ripened in these
|
| LA castles. |
| We rust in the milk that weў‚¬"ўve been fed
|
| Nothing (this thing) anything (keep it on)
|
| That fatted us calves would now feed on.
|
| Nothing (this thing) anything (keep it on)
|
| That fatted us calves would now feed on.
|
| The soft parts of our lower backs.
|
| That fatted us calves would now feed on.
|
| The soft parts of our lower backs.
|
| That fatted us calves would now feed on.
|
| That fatted us calves would now feed on.
|
| You canў‚¬"ўt buy love. You canў‚¬"ўt sell feelings.
|
| You canў‚¬"ўt buy love. You canў‚¬"ўt sell feelings.
|
| We were meant to eat each other.
|
| We were meant to eat each other.
|
| You canў‚¬"ўt buy love. You canў‚¬"ўt sell feelings.
|
| You canў‚¬"ўt buy love. You canў‚¬"ўt sell feelings.
|
| We were meant to eat each other.
|
| We were meant.
|
| Have at me, have at me, have at me with your most primitive touch.
|
| You canў‚¬"ўt buy love. You canў‚¬"ўt sell feelings.
|
| You canў‚¬"ўt buy love. You canў‚¬"ўt sell feelings.
|
| We were meant to eat each other.
|
| You canў‚¬"ўt buy love. You canў‚¬"ўt sell feelings.
|
| Have at me, have at me, have at me with your most primitive touch.
|
| Secretaries now make great lovers.
|
| As do those, as do those, as do those we had never considered.
|
| The sound of cracking bones shall be the music that plays us out.
|
| The sound of cracking bones shall be the music that plays us out.
|
| stick ourselves with syringes
|
| and scrape our lungs with dollar bills.
|
| forge a roof that will hold us in and keep them out.
|
| We sluts, we have fattened and ripened in these
|
| LA castles. |
| We rust in the milk that weў‚¬"ўve been fed. |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hey Kid I'm a Computer, Stop All the Downloading , by - Fear Before The March of Flames. Song from the album Art Damage, in the genre Пост-хардкор