Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, artist - Youngblood Brass Band. Date of issue: 08.09.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot |
| On the grid |
| Got a government contract to overcharge -- no bid |
| Less and less of us living large -- no shit |
| A lesson plan about cutting art -- blow kiss |
| I love the way you say it’s for the kids -- quote this: |
| I love the way you make it fully legit |
| Cause you got a television bully pulpit |
| What’d the pope say? |
| Jesus never asked a leper for a co-pay |
| One for the money |
| Two for the… (what?) money |
| Are you a senator? |
| You for the money |
| We lose all the money |
| «The truth or the money» |
| «The youth are the money» |
| We stupid for money |
| Is it clear enough? |
| «Yeah, but it ain’t weird enough.» |
| Ya-ya-ya-ya, ya-ya, ya-ya, poof, fixed! |
| «I love cynical, senseless, selfish tricks» -- |
| Now it sounds like America, sick! |
| Let’s bow our heads and pray our teachers don’t get raises |
| Let’s pray our children get degrees that cost what spaceships do |
| America, you’re so cool |
| (All for one, all for one, all for one…) |
| All for more bravado |
| The chart leads to the delta, echoing across the gulf |
| A hotel in diaspora’s best slum, where Juliet runs drugs by the kilo |
| Leave the mic alone |
| No embers or scars |
| Give me the flame, but no plot? |
| Whiskey tango foxtrot?! |
| America, why the long face? |
| So we broke our vows |
| So failure tagged us 'it,' |
| The mortal pang in Stanley Kunitz' flaming wheel of bones. |
| You made us run amok |
| You made us grab the largest pieces of metal and froth and clang |
| So what good is lyric, Orpheus? |
| What good the nail? |
| What notes now? |
| «Get off of it!» |
| I admit, I’m a bit unruly |
| Ignore UN rulings when a country’ll sue me |
| Here’s a cheerleader secret for you pom-pom heads: |
| 'Is that a riot?' |
| is just something that my mom says |
| (Oh, shit, Judy!) Signed yours, truly |
| News flash: you can’t cover your chemo? |
| Move fast to where they care about people |
| For real, though, I love all the music we make |
| I love the beautiful states |
| I love hip-hop and rock |
| I love the usual things |
| I love my black tube socks |
| I love drum line, drum corps, drum trolls, drum war |
| Drum rolls, drum lore, kids that want to drum more |
| Shadow on my wrist, battle EQ with a fist |
| Like «ba-goo-ba-goo-ba-goo ju-ju-ju gock!» |
| It doesn’t matter if we kill their dreams |
| Our most beaten-down always go and steal the scene, so: |
| Let’s bow our heads and pray the poor will keep enlisting |
| Thank God we’re sending them to war to fight for CEOs |
| America, I thought we were bros? |
| (Hit hard, hit hard, hit hard…) |
| Hit up a Quebecois hospital |
| When in Rome, explode |
| See no error |
| A unified form, poorly fitted |
| To the victor goes the gilded cow |
| An ex-marine denied pension |
| All chains yanked |
| For your service, you lose. |
| (You lose! Hit me!) |
| Whiskey tango foxtrot?! |
| America, no one can beat you in gun crime |
| No one can touch you in musical revolutions |
| But your kids aren’t that bright |
| And you eat like shit. |
| You made our hearts' cadence wed the off- and back-beat |
| So that their swaying hips wouldn’t arouse suspicion farther north |
| You created colloquialisms that mean the opposite of their literal definition |
| And then made that policy an international platform: |
| An exchange for merit |
| A bartering professional, a 'charm offensive,' |
| And a hearse for every ode. |
| America, our concertmaster |
| You must conduct yourself from that gloriously-out-of-tune piano |
| The soloist is stoned |
| Othar Turner says «heap see, but mighty few know.' |
| While the world makes flesh of flesh, we etch our names in gold. |
| We fetch our flaming bones… |
| We fetch our flaming bones… |
| We fetch our flaming bones… |
| Let’s bow our heads and pray that science is a put-on. |
| Let’s pray that clarity of thought is just a passing fad. |
| America, who’s your dad? |
| Let’s bow our heads and pray we privatize the whole thing |
| (Oh sea, can you say… |
| If you want your mail delivered now, you’re going to have to pay |
| …"die by brawn’s surly might?") |
| Let’s make this shit a feudal estate |
| Let’s bow our heads… |
| Let’s bow our heads… |
| Let’s bow our heads… |
| Let’s bow our heads… |
| (Oh sea, can you say… |
| Let’s bow our heads and say a prayer tonight: |
| …"die by brawn’s surly might?") |
| My cool America |
| (Oh sea, can you say… |
| I’m still in love with you… |
| …"die by brawn’s surly might?") |
| (Oh sea, can you say «die by brawn’s surly might?») |
| (Oh sea, can you say «die by brawn’s surly might?») |