Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Where There's a Will, There's a Whalebone, artist - Islands.
Date of issue: 10.11.2016
Song language: English
Where There's a Will, There's a Whalebone |
The morning I set sail on a whalebone |
the gale. |
force winds made the sky grow |
and I was far out in the ocean |
when I cut the roof of my mouth on the potion |
down down down went the femur |
I let my backbone slide in the ether |
laying low in a tropical hideout |
if anyone finds out; |
I’ll turn their lights out |
subtitle: where there’s a will there’s a whalebone (way to go) you’ll never know |
I set sail that morning and I may not come back know lay low |
in a hideout just to bust you- tropical |
it’s neurotic and exotic |
with yet another broke down (bone) incidental |
not accidental |
when facts track the mental |
even within movement they know, even with the solitary movement |
words get arranged for maximum deployment |
words mean will |
where there’s a whalebone then there’s a |
tale gone wrong |
young gang on a boat |
it’s the same song |
same quote |
nature stretches it out note by note |
It’S a new state, you don’t know the nomenclature, the governor has status with |
the cutting apparatus |
and that is half the battle |
they can’t think of how to absorb us, they can’t thing of how to solve me |
let’s see |
a cancerous mix of young pirates for kicks- signed, |
seated C.(L.)(T.)G. |
in congealed blood |
this is all on the surreal |
don’t appeal to the side where the law resides |
after all that, it’s a separatist homicide |
rappers try to cultivate carbon monoxide |
you tried to get entranced by the folks that try to get us by hap-happenstance. |
busdriver: frame our press shots with a whale sternum |
and a dolphin femur, band breather lab tech with a solvent |
in a broken beaker, yell in boom mics and moonlight as a coffin cleaner |
then poolside I food fight with Hollywood anorexics |
I’m in a crew of pallbearers and ambidextrous foosball players |
we got pool hall flair, remove all layers of industry pretension |
and augmented physical attributes |
because I’m blanketed in nude doll hair |
but with these styles we’re shrewd on-air |
so we’ve been annexed to an annexed isle |
by the radio programmer, half — man reptile |
that church of satin bible study tutor choir boy |
prefers the works that are uninspired and coy |
but uhh Driver’s ploy is to show a lot of follow through |
wearing a monocle coming out a fiery void |
collecting style in rental late fees |
they never return it after the test drive |
infatuated by a robots breast size |
we ain’t entertained by balloon animals |
marooned on our tropical safe haven |
everyday is a paid vacation |
In the evening I arrived on a wishbone |
so I wished all the stars would go home |
but one was a dog with its tail drawn |
it wagged (laughed) as it shed, now its long gone |
I remember the flavour |
but I made a choice to stay here |
laying low in a tropical hide-out |
if anyone finds out, I’ll turn their lights out |