|
Guitar thug blew into town |
|
His eyes like wheels spinnin' round |
|
Jerkin-off at every sound |
|
Layin' all his crosses down |
|
O yeah |
|
He got Six Strings |
|
The Six Strings that drew blood |
|
The bar is full of Holy-Joes |
|
A Holy-hole-a-whole-aria |
|
Around the neck of our consumptive rose |
|
Is the root of all his sorrows |
|
O yeah |
|
He got Six Strings |
|
Six Strings that drew blood |
|
A Holy-hole-a-whole-aria |
|
Six Strings that drew blood |
|
In the bathroom under cover |
|
He turns on one tap to discover |
|
He's smashed his teeth out on the other |
|
Well he look in the mirror and say |
|
Don't fuck me brother |
|
Cause I got Six Strings |
|
Six Strings that drew blood |
|
Numbin' the runt of reputation they call rat fame |
|
Top-E as a tourniquet |
|
A low tune whistles across his grave |
|
Forever the master and the slave of his Six Strings |
|
A Holy-hole-a-whole-aria |
|
Six Strings that drew blood. |
