Doc Pomus Lyrics

Song	Doc Pomus
Artist	Ben Folds
Album	Lonely Avenue
Download	Image LRC TXT

	作曲 : Botch
	Man in a wheelchair, lobby of the Forrest
	With freighters, hustlers, hard-up millionaires.
	Mobsters, cops, whores, pimps and Marxist.
	All human life is there.
	Man in a wheelchair listens to the chatter,
	Writes down all the insane crap he hears.
	He can't move around, but it doesn't really matter
	In the Forrest all you need is eyes and ears.
	And out they pour, the hits and the misses.
	Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,
	And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.
	Pomus/Shuman, 1962.
	And he never could be one of those happy cripples,
	The kind that smile and tell you life's OK.
	He was mad as hell, frightened and bitter.
	He found a way to make his feelings pay.
	Back at the Forrest, in the steakhouse of the lobby,
	The diner gets three bullets in the head.
	Doc looks down, eating his linguine,
	Thinking up a lyric for the dead.
	And out they pour, the hits and the misses.
	Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,
	And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.
	Pomus/Shuman, 1962.
	Fred Neil, Jack Benny, crazy Phil Spector,
	Pumpkin Juice and Eydie Gorm
	Damon Runyon Jr. and the Duke's orchestra
	All superhuman life was there
	And he never could be one of those happy cripples
	The kind that smile and tell you life's OK
	He was mad as hell, frightened and bitter
	He found a way to make his isolation pay
	And out they pour, the hits and the misses.
	Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,
	And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.
	Pomus/Shuman, 1962.
	And out they pour, the hits and the misses.
	Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,
	And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.
	Pomus/Shuman, 1962.

	zuo qu : Botch
	Man in a wheelchair, lobby of the Forrest
	With freighters, hustlers, hardup millionaires.
	Mobsters, cops, whores, pimps and Marxist.
	All human life is there.
	Man in a wheelchair listens to the chatter,
	Writes down all the insane crap he hears.
	He can' t move around, but it doesn' t really matter
	In the Forrest all you need is eyes and ears.
	And out they pour, the hits and the misses.
	Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,
	And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.
	Pomus Shuman, 1962.
	And he never could be one of those happy cripples,
	The kind that smile and tell you life' s OK.
	He was mad as hell, frightened and bitter.
	He found a way to make his feelings pay.
	Back at the Forrest, in the steakhouse of the lobby,
	The diner gets three bullets in the head.
	Doc looks down, eating his linguine,
	Thinking up a lyric for the dead.
	And out they pour, the hits and the misses.
	Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,
	And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.
	Pomus Shuman, 1962.
	Fred Neil, Jack Benny, crazy Phil Spector,
	Pumpkin Juice and Eydie Gorm
	Damon Runyon Jr. and the Duke' s orchestra
	All superhuman life was there
	And he never could be one of those happy cripples
	The kind that smile and tell you life' s OK
	He was mad as hell, frightened and bitter
	He found a way to make his isolation pay
	And out they pour, the hits and the misses.
	Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,
	And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.
	Pomus Shuman, 1962.
	And out they pour, the hits and the misses.
	Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,
	And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.
	Pomus Shuman, 1962.

	zuò qǔ : Botch
	Man in a wheelchair, lobby of the Forrest
	With freighters, hustlers, hardup millionaires.
	Mobsters, cops, whores, pimps and Marxist.
	All human life is there.
	Man in a wheelchair listens to the chatter,
	Writes down all the insane crap he hears.
	He can' t move around, but it doesn' t really matter
	In the Forrest all you need is eyes and ears.
	And out they pour, the hits and the misses.
	Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,
	And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.
	Pomus Shuman, 1962.
	And he never could be one of those happy cripples,
	The kind that smile and tell you life' s OK.
	He was mad as hell, frightened and bitter.
	He found a way to make his feelings pay.
	Back at the Forrest, in the steakhouse of the lobby,
	The diner gets three bullets in the head.
	Doc looks down, eating his linguine,
	Thinking up a lyric for the dead.
	And out they pour, the hits and the misses.
	Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,
	And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.
	Pomus Shuman, 1962.
	Fred Neil, Jack Benny, crazy Phil Spector,
	Pumpkin Juice and Eydie Gorm
	Damon Runyon Jr. and the Duke' s orchestra
	All superhuman life was there
	And he never could be one of those happy cripples
	The kind that smile and tell you life' s OK
	He was mad as hell, frightened and bitter
	He found a way to make his isolation pay
	And out they pour, the hits and the misses.
	Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,
	And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.
	Pomus Shuman, 1962.
	And out they pour, the hits and the misses.
	Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,
	And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.
	Pomus Shuman, 1962.

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