|
This song is called, |
|
"It's a metaphor, fool." |
|
Sixteen names on my list |
|
but none of them could ever get me high like this. |
|
(YEAH!!!) |
|
Got your scars in my wrist, |
|
you're safe inside my fist. |
|
(Now let the fun begin! Sing!) |
|
All you are to me is dead skin, |
|
flaking off my hand onto the pavement. |
|
All you are to me is dead skin, |
|
breakin' up my band won't bring you payment. |
|
Woah! (Love like no other) |
|
Woah! (We told your mother) |
|
Woah! (Love like no other) |
|
Woah! (I told your mother) |
|
So here's the plan, |
|
you're giving in to every sick demand. |
|
Buying the band our own apartment. |
|
Here is your past: |
|
flashing forward out to whip your ass, |
|
into the form adorn when you were born. |
|
Woah! (Love like no other) |
|
Woah! (We told your mother) |
|
Woah! (Love like no other) |
|
Woah! (I told your mother) |
|
All you are to me is dead, |
|
All you are to me is dead, |
|
All you are to me is dead skin. |
|
(Come on!) |
|
All you are to me is dead, |
|
Sixteen bullets split your head, |
|
All you are to me is dead skin. |
|
(Go! Go! Go!) |
|
All you are to me is dead, |
|
All you are to me is dead, |
|
All you are to me is dead skin. |
|
All you are to me is dead, |
|
Sixteen bullets split your head, |
|
All you are to me is dead skin. |