| Song | (PLAN A) |
| Artist | Los Campesinos! |
| Album | Romance Is Boring |
| [00:00.000] | 作曲 : Tom Campesinos |
| [00:04.670] | Just like when we were seventeen we said we'd move to Malta, |
| [00:08.470] | Claim Nationality, |
| [00:09.830] | And now that we are twenty three - days tethered to the running track, |
| [00:14.949] | Evenings chained to the dishrack. |
| [00:15.809] | I'm called up to the Maltese national team, |
| [00:17.999] | My vision is impeccable, my first touch is obscene. |
| [00:21.204] | A world cup qualifier finds me fifty, forty, thirty yards from goal, |
| [00:24.464] | A late sub on in an off the striker role. |
| [00:26.614] | Was it wind? Did it take a bad deflection? |
| [00:29.370] | A decade spent nursing a fear that you might never make it? |
| [00:32.314] | The crowd draws breathe at once, |
| [00:33.754] | It swerves to the top corner, |
| [00:34.874] | The Sunday Tabloid press declares me the new king of Malta. |
| [00:37.472] | |
| [00:47.333] | With my name on shirts, your face on the cash that every week just piles inside our bank account, |
| [00:52.843] | We'd rule the roost and we could start a family I think we'd make about a hundred million bucks. |
| [00:58.852] | |
| [01:00.493] | I head down to the mint and tell them: |
| [01:02.672] | Pound every coin deep into the ground, |
| [01:05.433] | Burn every note in circulation |
| [01:07.933] | There's a new face on the currency of our nation. |
| [01:11.172] | I hand them a photograph of you, |
| [01:13.662] | The most beautiful thing they'd ever seen. |
| [01:16.683] | The press starts a rolling, your image on Euros, |
| [01:19.477] | The workforce retires to the bathroom. |
| [01:22.422] | |
| [01:31.872] | With my name on shirts, your face on the cash that every week just piles inside our bank account, |
| [01:37.592] | We'd rule the roost and we could start a family I think we'd make about a hundred million bucks. |
| [00:00.000] | zuò qǔ : Tom Campesinos |
| [00:04.670] | Just like when we were seventeen we said we' d move to Malta, |
| [00:08.470] | Claim Nationality, |
| [00:09.830] | And now that we are twenty three days tethered to the running track, |
| [00:14.949] | Evenings chained to the dishrack. |
| [00:15.809] | I' m called up to the Maltese national team, |
| [00:17.999] | My vision is impeccable, my first touch is obscene. |
| [00:21.204] | A world cup qualifier finds me fifty, forty, thirty yards from goal, |
| [00:24.464] | A late sub on in an off the striker role. |
| [00:26.614] | Was it wind? Did it take a bad deflection? |
| [00:29.370] | A decade spent nursing a fear that you might never make it? |
| [00:32.314] | The crowd draws breathe at once, |
| [00:33.754] | It swerves to the top corner, |
| [00:34.874] | The Sunday Tabloid press declares me the new king of Malta. |
| [00:37.472] | |
| [00:47.333] | With my name on shirts, your face on the cash that every week just piles inside our bank account, |
| [00:52.843] | We' d rule the roost and we could start a family I think we' d make about a hundred million bucks. |
| [00:58.852] | |
| [01:00.493] | I head down to the mint and tell them: |
| [01:02.672] | Pound every coin deep into the ground, |
| [01:05.433] | Burn every note in circulation |
| [01:07.933] | There' s a new face on the currency of our nation. |
| [01:11.172] | I hand them a photograph of you, |
| [01:13.662] | The most beautiful thing they' d ever seen. |
| [01:16.683] | The press starts a rolling, your image on Euros, |
| [01:19.477] | The workforce retires to the bathroom. |
| [01:22.422] | |
| [01:31.872] | With my name on shirts, your face on the cash that every week just piles inside our bank account, |
| [01:37.592] | We' d rule the roost and we could start a family I think we' d make about a hundred million bucks. |