| I’ve got a surgeon’s precision
|
| And a drunk man’s hand
|
| They say I’ve stopped growing
|
| So I do what I can
|
| Nothing ever changes but the cigarette brand
|
| Don’t panic this is just routine
|
| Don’t panic this is just routine
|
| You’ve got roses on the brain but I’m all wilt
|
| You’ve got snowflakes in your veins and I’m all melt
|
| You don’t got blame on your breath, God bless, but all I taste is guilt
|
| My misery will bury you
|
| And I’m so sorry that I’m scaring you
|
| But what was I supposed to do
|
| As opposed to loving you?
|
| I’ve got a surgeon’s hand
|
| And a drunk man’s passion
|
| I’m totally limbless
|
| And I’m ready for action
|
| Nothing ever changes but the taste of tobacco
|
| Don’t panic this is just routine
|
| Don’t panic this is just routine
|
| You’ve got roses on the brain but I’m all wilt
|
| You’ve got snowflakes in your veins but I’m all melt
|
| You don’t got blame on your breath, God bless, but all I taste is guilt
|
| My misery will bury you
|
| And I’m so sorry that I’m scaring you
|
| But what was I supposed to do
|
| As opposed to loving you?
|
| You’ve got roses on the brain but I’m all wilt
|
| I’m all wilt
|
| I’m all wilt
|
| I’m all wilt
|
| I’m all wilt
|
| Now what am I supposed to do? |