Song | Don't Shoot My Dog |
Artist | Terrorvision |
Album | Formaldehyde/How To Make Friends And Influence People/Regular Urban Survivors |
作曲 : Terrorvision | |
Listening to the story of an angry old man, | |
He had the whole world in his pocket but, | |
He had a hole there in his hand, | |
Never had much trouble fitting into his surroundings, | |
Dived headlong into life, | |
And ended up by drowning, | |
Died by drowning. | |
His blood is pure venom and his teeth are solid gold, | |
His clothes are made from human skin, | |
He's a thousand years old, | |
He lives down by the poisoned stream, | |
Where only alligators swim, | |
Sits there drinking moonshine, | |
Playing a mean violin, a mean violin, | |
A really wicked violin. | |
You've got four lines on your forehead, | |
And that tells me that you're worried, | |
Don't shoot my dog, | |
Don't shoot my dog, | |
I said please don't shoot my dog. | |
His wife is laying face down in the pool upon the porch, | |
He spied me through his blindness, | |
As I spied her with my torch, | |
His skin goes tight around his face, | |
As he smiles his blinding smile, | |
Points over to a dozen wives laying in a pile, | |
Laying in a pile... pile high. |
zuò qǔ : Terrorvision | |
Listening to the story of an angry old man, | |
He had the whole world in his pocket but, | |
He had a hole there in his hand, | |
Never had much trouble fitting into his surroundings, | |
Dived headlong into life, | |
And ended up by drowning, | |
Died by drowning. | |
His blood is pure venom and his teeth are solid gold, | |
His clothes are made from human skin, | |
He' s a thousand years old, | |
He lives down by the poisoned stream, | |
Where only alligators swim, | |
Sits there drinking moonshine, | |
Playing a mean violin, a mean violin, | |
A really wicked violin. | |
You' ve got four lines on your forehead, | |
And that tells me that you' re worried, | |
Don' t shoot my dog, | |
Don' t shoot my dog, | |
I said please don' t shoot my dog. | |
His wife is laying face down in the pool upon the porch, | |
He spied me through his blindness, | |
As I spied her with my torch, | |
His skin goes tight around his face, | |
As he smiles his blinding smile, | |
Points over to a dozen wives laying in a pile, | |
Laying in a pile... pile high. |