Whitevan Lyrics
| Song | Whitevan |
| Artist | OhGr |
| Album | Devils in my details |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Just around 5 o'clock | |
| Cars are screaming around the block | |
| The boy is scared and looking around | |
| He's feeling a little bit anxious | |
| I think he's searching for his mother | |
| What did your find? | |
| A/Uh, white van | |
| Facing this prospect I set out for today's | |
| Over-introspection I feast upon decay | |
| Around me is misfortune my avenue all spade | |
| Digging all the so called out diggers | |
| Digging his own grave | |
| Meet me Mr. Indecision watch his machine cave | |
| end up on itself and watch one debit I win and mince our way | |
| The seats are best from over there out behind the shade | |
| My diggers in their dirty coats their attitudes of spades | |
| Passing the inspection, No! | |
| Now this is everyday | |
| Special Forces special boots | |
| The stock mark comes to pay | |
| Fancy men so over-suited for the bible days | |
| Keep the prince in timely tints | |
| Ring out the barren child at play | |
| Christen me "Disaster" | |
| At least that’s what I say | |
| Into which the thing determines which rate he decays | |
| Keeping loads of sunshine I love the job I play | |
| Digging out this whole shitty world digging it today | |
| White world | |
| Whitevan | |
| Fight the world | |
| [Actually, my hypothesis is that all of these are minced together. It suits the barren child at play in the lyrics, anyway.] | |
| Good afternoon, | |
| What else did you find? | |
| It's not color blind | |
| Feel indication - my vindication | |
| To know nothing exists | |
| Opens all to “what and if” | |
| Portions of my emptiness | |
| Sitting by the open door | |
| Looking up to take it out | |
| Settle in to catch a show | |
| Read/red situation - dead indication | |
| Feels like a clock I ate | |
| Ticking in this toxic state | |
| Ready for an occupant | |
| Suck it to sniff the paint | |
| Sniffing up the weakest link | |
| Rising from the righteous stink | |
| See simulation - speak | |
| To take a piece of me | |
| Hold onto walls of life | |
| Pull the chain, when burning bright | |
| In a copter raise the rope | |
| Firmly placed around my throat | |
| Aging worm at sanding counters | |
| Slipping through my finger burn | |
| Each a seclusion - my own intrusion | |
| Upon my waking state | |
| Each of us must face their fate | |
| Rolling we can grow some more | |
| Broken body pray on more | |
| Pulling through to face a fraud | |
| Pushing back to push some more |
| Just around 5 o' clock | |
| Cars are screaming around the block | |
| The boy is scared and looking around | |
| He' s feeling a little bit anxious | |
| I think he' s searching for his mother | |
| What did your find? | |
| A Uh, white van | |
| Facing this prospect I set out for today' s | |
| Overintrospection I feast upon decay | |
| Around me is misfortune my avenue all spade | |
| Digging all the so called out diggers | |
| Digging his own grave | |
| Meet me Mr. Indecision watch his machine cave | |
| end up on itself and watch one debit I win and mince our way | |
| The seats are best from over there out behind the shade | |
| My diggers in their dirty coats their attitudes of spades | |
| Passing the inspection, No! | |
| Now this is everyday | |
| Special Forces special boots | |
| The stock mark comes to pay | |
| Fancy men so oversuited for the bible days | |
| Keep the prince in timely tints | |
| Ring out the barren child at play | |
| Christen me " Disaster" | |
| At least that' s what I say | |
| Into which the thing determines which rate he decays | |
| Keeping loads of sunshine I love the job I play | |
| Digging out this whole shitty world digging it today | |
| White world | |
| Whitevan | |
| Fight the world | |
| Actually, my hypothesis is that all of these are minced together. It suits the barren child at play in the lyrics, anyway. | |
| Good afternoon, | |
| What else did you find? | |
| It' s not color blind | |
| Feel indication my vindication | |
| To know nothing exists | |
| Opens all to " what and if" | |
| Portions of my emptiness | |
| Sitting by the open door | |
| Looking up to take it out | |
| Settle in to catch a show | |
| Read red situation dead indication | |
| Feels like a clock I ate | |
| Ticking in this toxic state | |
| Ready for an occupant | |
| Suck it to sniff the paint | |
| Sniffing up the weakest link | |
| Rising from the righteous stink | |
| See simulation speak | |
| To take a piece of me | |
| Hold onto walls of life | |
| Pull the chain, when burning bright | |
| In a copter raise the rope | |
| Firmly placed around my throat | |
| Aging worm at sanding counters | |
| Slipping through my finger burn | |
| Each a seclusion my own intrusion | |
| Upon my waking state | |
| Each of us must face their fate | |
| Rolling we can grow some more | |
| Broken body pray on more | |
| Pulling through to face a fraud | |
| Pushing back to push some more |
| Just around 5 o' clock | |
| Cars are screaming around the block | |
| The boy is scared and looking around | |
| He' s feeling a little bit anxious | |
| I think he' s searching for his mother | |
| What did your find? | |
| A Uh, white van | |
| Facing this prospect I set out for today' s | |
| Overintrospection I feast upon decay | |
| Around me is misfortune my avenue all spade | |
| Digging all the so called out diggers | |
| Digging his own grave | |
| Meet me Mr. Indecision watch his machine cave | |
| end up on itself and watch one debit I win and mince our way | |
| The seats are best from over there out behind the shade | |
| My diggers in their dirty coats their attitudes of spades | |
| Passing the inspection, No! | |
| Now this is everyday | |
| Special Forces special boots | |
| The stock mark comes to pay | |
| Fancy men so oversuited for the bible days | |
| Keep the prince in timely tints | |
| Ring out the barren child at play | |
| Christen me " Disaster" | |
| At least that' s what I say | |
| Into which the thing determines which rate he decays | |
| Keeping loads of sunshine I love the job I play | |
| Digging out this whole shitty world digging it today | |
| White world | |
| Whitevan | |
| Fight the world | |
| Actually, my hypothesis is that all of these are minced together. It suits the barren child at play in the lyrics, anyway. | |
| Good afternoon, | |
| What else did you find? | |
| It' s not color blind | |
| Feel indication my vindication | |
| To know nothing exists | |
| Opens all to " what and if" | |
| Portions of my emptiness | |
| Sitting by the open door | |
| Looking up to take it out | |
| Settle in to catch a show | |
| Read red situation dead indication | |
| Feels like a clock I ate | |
| Ticking in this toxic state | |
| Ready for an occupant | |
| Suck it to sniff the paint | |
| Sniffing up the weakest link | |
| Rising from the righteous stink | |
| See simulation speak | |
| To take a piece of me | |
| Hold onto walls of life | |
| Pull the chain, when burning bright | |
| In a copter raise the rope | |
| Firmly placed around my throat | |
| Aging worm at sanding counters | |
| Slipping through my finger burn | |
| Each a seclusion my own intrusion | |
| Upon my waking state | |
| Each of us must face their fate | |
| Rolling we can grow some more | |
| Broken body pray on more | |
| Pulling through to face a fraud | |
| Pushing back to push some more |
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