| Sell the kids for food, weather changes moods
|
| Spring is here again, reproductive glands
|
| We could have some more, nature is a whore
|
| Bruises on the fruit, tender age in bloom
|
| He’s the one who likes all our pretty songs
|
| And he likes to sing along, he likes to shoot his gun
|
| He’s the one who likes all our pretty songs
|
| But he don’t know what they mean, he don’t know what they mean
|
| I wish I was like you, easily amused
|
| Find my nest of salt, everything’s my fault
|
| I’ll take all the blame, aqua sea foam shame
|
| What else could I be? |
| All apologies
|
| He’s the one who likes all our pretty songs
|
| And he likes to sing along and he likes to shoot his gun
|
| He’s the one who likes all our pretty songs
|
| But he don’t know what they mean, he don’t know what they mean
|
| He’s the one who likes all our pretty songs
|
| And he likes to sing along and he likes to shoot his gun
|
| He’s the one who likes all our pretty songs
|
| But he don’t know what they mean, he don’t know what they mean
|
| He’s the one who likes all our pretty songs
|
| And he likes to sing along, he likes to shoot his gun
|
| In the sun, in the sun I feel as one
|
| But I don’t know what it mean, I don’t know what it mean |