Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Love Song, artist - Vents. Date of issue: 09.10.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: Gaelic
Love Song(original) |
| Haha … okay |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (c'mon, c’mon!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (sing along with it!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (get down with yo' bad self!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (word 'em up!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (yeah!) |
| I dwell in the darkest of places |
| Planet Earth, everything tasteless, everybody sound kinda brainless |
| Roll the herb and play the verse |
| Staying immersed in crime, think politics perverse |
| Every day is like May the first in Haymarket Square |
| Heard a lot of martyrs there |
| Making everybody’s shit list |
| Government to corporate, take back the gas and water shit |
| Class War in effect |
| Autonomist populace, hardcore to the death |
| Anti-fascista, John Carpenter creature |
| Terrorising grooves made to reach ya |
| Custom built to feel, fuck paying for brand new clothes |
| And looking good for your bros, huh |
| I rock a rag with a bloodstain on it |
| And get more props than I wanted |
| Make you feel like. |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (c'mon, c’mon!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (sing along with it!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (get down with yo' bad self!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (word 'em up!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (yeah!) |
| I want a summer of love, feeling good, got someone to love |
| John Lennon, no Gods, no nothing above |
| Rock Steady Crew cutting a rug |
| On the mic like Soulsonic, 808 drum is a drug |
| Stuck in my room, nothing to do |
| Getting paranoid, feeling like Iran with a bucket of crude |
| Twenty-six thousand nukes with nothing to do |
| McDonald’s and them Reeboks coming for you |
| Need a cupboard of food and a roof and I’m straight |
| Fucking utter contempt if you run up and tempt fate |
| Back in the tenth grade was a Don Juan |
| Cutting school in the days, ducking rays from a cop car |
| With a Posca on the same bus my dad drove |
| Did he care? |
| Fuck nah |
| I’m a chip off the old block |
| Pissed off and never get a break outa life, but so what? |
| Uh! |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (c'mon, c’mon!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (sing along with it!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (get down with yo' bad self!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (word 'em up!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Rising above like Rollins in Black Flag |
| Pissing in your Louis Vuitton handbag |
| Treating 'em worse than the Grand Dragon in the Klan |
| Vents taking a stand, propaganda by the bedside lamp |
| Your blood on your boyfriend’s Skyline floor |
| Let the eyeline pour when it’s time for war |
| You denying the dinosaur |
| Swearing that God created man, but God enslaving man |
| With the church and the capitalists |
| 2007, still both tryna gaffle my shit |
| Had to resist, accurate, how could it miss? |
| Game of death, Billy Lo type powerful fist |
| Kind of weird like having a brisk |
| Cutting your child’s dick to get closer to God, it sounds sick huh |
| I see 'em in the club spazzing out |
| But smoking ice ain’t nothing to brag about |
| I make you wanna. |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (c'mon, c’mon!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (sing along with it!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (get down with yo' bad self!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (word 'em up!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Hah-ha yeah, it’s a love song |
| Get your food, eat your dinner, get your desert |
| Sing along! |
| (translation) |
| Haha... okay |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (c'mon, c'mon!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (sing along with it!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (get down with yo' bad self!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (word 'em up!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (yeah!) |
| I dwell in the darkest of places |
| Planet Earth, everything tasteless, everybody sound kinda brainless |
| Roll the herb and play the verse |
| Staying immersed in crime, think politics perverse |
| Every day is like May the first in Haymarket Square |
| Heard a lot of martyrs there |
| Making everybody's shit list |
| Government to corporate, take back the gas and water shit |
| Class War in effect |
| Autonomist populace, hardcore to the death |
| Anti-fascista, John Carpenter creature |
| Terrorizing grooves made to reach ya |
| Custom built to feel, fuck paying for brand new clothes |
| And looking good for your bros, huh |
| I rock a rag with a bloodstain on it |
| And get more props than I wanted |
| Make you feel like. |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (c'mon, c'mon!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (sing along with it!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (get down with yo' bad self!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (word 'em up!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (yeah!) |
| I want a summer of love, feeling good, got someone to love |
| John Lennon, or Gods, or nothing above |
| Rock Steady Crew cutting a rug |
| On the mic like Soulsonic, 808 drum is a drug |
| Stuck in my room, nothing to do |
| Getting paranoid, feeling like Iran with a bucket of crude |
| Twenty-six thousand nukes with nothing to do |
| McDonald's and them Reeboks coming for you |
| Need a cupboard of food and a roof and I'm straight |
| Fucking utter contempt if you run up and tempt fate |
| Back in the tenth grade was a Don Juan |
| Cutting school in the days, ducking rays from a cop car |
| With a Posca on the same bus my dad drove |
| Did he care? |
| Fuck nah |
| I'm a chip off the old block |
| Pissed off and never got a break out life, but so what? |
| Oh! |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (c'mon, c'mon!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (sing along with it!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (get down with yo' bad self!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (word 'em up!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Rising above like Rollins in Black Flag |
| Pissing in your Louis Vuitton handbag |
| Treating 'em worse than the Grand Dragon in the Klan |
| Vents taking a stand, propaganda by the bedside lamp |
| Your blood on your boyfriend's Skyline floor |
| Let the eyeliner pour when it's time for war |
| You deny the dinosaur |
| Swearing that God created man, but God enslaves man |
| With the church and the capitalists |
| 2007, still both tryna gaffle my shit |
| Had to resist, accurate, how could it miss? |
| Game of death, Billy Lo type powerful fist |
| Kind of weird like having a brisk |
| Cutting your child's dick to get closer to God, it sounds sick huh |
| I see 'em in the club spazzing out |
| But smoking ice ain't nothing to brag about |
| I make you wanna. |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (c'mon, c'mon!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (sing along with it!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (get down with yo' bad self!) |
| Na, na-na-na-na-na (word 'em up!) |
| Na-na-na, na-na-na (yeah!) |
| Hah-ha yeah, it's a love song |
| Get your food, eat your dinner, get your desert |
| Sing along! |