| Sunday morning paper said
|
| «Rock 'n' Roll is surely dead!»
|
| Somethin' hit me deep down in my soul
|
| Lord I know, it’s just Rock 'n' Roll
|
| Never one time did I ever
|
| Dream you wouldn’t live forever
|
| Betcha never planned on gettin' old
|
| Looked like you were born to lose
|
| Your slicked back hair and your prison blues
|
| Mother tried to keep you from that row
|
| Lord I know, it’s just Rock 'n' Roll
|
| Well you showed up from the underground
|
| Bakersfield, Tulsa-town
|
| An inch away from needin' crowd control
|
| Lord I know, Oh Lord I know!
|
| Women, wine and Benzedrine
|
| Out to break the Big Machine
|
| Gettin' off the low-down for the truth
|
| Fightin' at it fingernail and tooth
|
| Somewhere between 10 and 2
|
| Someone’s wishin' they were you
|
| Make a livin' off your highs and lows
|
| Lord I know, it’s just Rock 'n' Roll
|
| Never one time did I ever
|
| Dream you wouldn’t live forever
|
| Betcha never planned on getting old
|
| Bangin' on a baby grand
|
| Play that thing to beat the band
|
| Screamin' out for everything you’re worth
|
| Well you dressed up like the greatest show on Earth
|
| Sunday morning paper said
|
| «Rock 'n' Roll is surely dead!»
|
| I don’t think I’ll ever let it go
|
| Even though it’s just Rock 'n' Roll |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Sunday Morning Paper , by - Turnpike Troubadours. Song from the album A Long Way from Your Heart, in the genre Кантри