|
You accuse me of fancy talk |
|
When I'm just trying to find my words |
|
You've got a funny way of saying my name |
|
Like I just ripped it off |
|
These whiskey tango ghosts |
|
Won't leave us alone |
|
But you are too polite to complain |
|
Of the art of speaking plain |
|
I haven't gathered a thing |
|
While I know we're dug in deep here |
|
Why can't we live high with the wind |
|
You're just a freckle away from changing everything |
|
I'll make this easy |
|
By calling on my gypsy pedigree |
|
These whiskey tango ghosts |
|
Won't leave us alone |
|
Of the art of speaking plain |
|
I haven't gathered a thing |
|
While I know we're dug in deep here |
|
Why can't we live high with the wind |
|
Can't we live |
|
Of the art of making waves |
|
I had my lesson in spades |
|
And these ghosts they make it plain |
|
They're never going away |
|
And my ghost she makes it plain |
|
I haven't gathered a thing |
|
Though I know we're dug in deep here |
|
Why can't we live high with the wind |
|
Can't we live |
