With the cops on your lips a holy routine If you'd stop all your trips you could see what I mean forgot not to slip 'bout you're under You had it in your hands
it up to me It's a known disease Keep it in your fleece worry about the customs police, don't I'll tell you just how good can be, this lazy summer
But you no relief from the pain in your head And it's hollow and greased and says that you're dead you make fun and tease and the things that you said They always stab your back And I've holding out for love ever since I had a heart