| Song | Pink Tarantulas |
| Artist | The Blood Brothers |
| Album | Ambulance vs. Ambulance |
| We are the cock-eyed children left to babble in tarantula glue. | |
| We are the shock-eyed children left to suckle straw in the soap opera zoo. | |
| We are the engines pumping out children strangled by static from the noisy sun. | |
| So won't you tell us what's brewing in your trenches? | |
| Let us see what you've got hidden under the web. | |
| Come on, come on, what's listening in those stretch marks? | |
| Tell us, tell us, taxman, what you meant when you said... | |
| Sleep, eat, own, fuck, | |
| Abandoned like a bombed out conversation. | |
| Phone, TV, sweets, suck, | |
| I pledge allegiance to the small talk nation. | |
| Wrapped, packed, soiled, stacked, | |
| Gaping like a cracked open piñata | |
| Counted, measured, copied, faxed, | |
| Pink tarantula teeth in our pina coladas. | |
| What's cooking in your stain? (come on taxman) | |
| The sleepy clang of cash register fangs | |
| What's cooking our sun? (come on taxman) | |
| The addictive hum of bubble gum slums | |
| Come on taxman! | |
| This withered milk tree that you call love collapses like an empty glove.. | |
| Feed it! (yeah ) Suck it! (yeah) Own it! (yeah) Fuck it! (yeah) | |
| And we know that sewing on another asshole wont make us shit more, | |
| but who can resist a two-for-one at the pink tarantula store? | |
| Pink tarantula! (Yeah!) | |
| Pink tarantula! (Oh yeah!) | |
| Pink tarantula! | |
| 1, 2, 3, go! | |
| When you wake up in the morning the rising sun shines through its frosted veil. | |
| We'll always lay together dreaming of other people under the poison hail. | |
| You look so disgusting, all pink and puckered, covered with tarantula hair. | |
| You look so disgusting I can feel the sight rotting off of my prowling stare. | |
| And we know that TV fed us our first footsteps, | |
| but the Ketamine is gonna teach us, teach us, teach us, | |
| gonna teach us, teach us, teach us just how to crawl. | |
| We are the cross-eyed children misled to yellow in tarantula webs. | |
| Yeah we are the gawk-eyed children chained to rot in the designer fuck beds. | |
| Sleep, eat, own, fuck, | |
| Abandoned like a bombed out conversation. | |
| Phone, TV, sweets, suck, | |
| I pledge allegiance to the small talk nation. | |
| Wrapped, packed, soiled, stacked, | |
| Gaping like a cracked open piñata | |
| Counted, measured, copied, faxed, | |
| Pink tarantula teeth in our pina coladas | |
| Pink tarantula! (Yeah!) | |
| Pink tarantula! (Oh yeah!) | |
| Pink tarantula! | |
| 1, 2, 3, go! |
| We are the cockeyed children left to babble in tarantula glue. | |
| We are the shockeyed children left to suckle straw in the soap opera zoo. | |
| We are the engines pumping out children strangled by static from the noisy sun. | |
| So won' t you tell us what' s brewing in your trenches? | |
| Let us see what you' ve got hidden under the web. | |
| Come on, come on, what' s listening in those stretch marks? | |
| Tell us, tell us, taxman, what you meant when you said... | |
| Sleep, eat, own, fuck, | |
| Abandoned like a bombed out conversation. | |
| Phone, TV, sweets, suck, | |
| I pledge allegiance to the small talk nation. | |
| Wrapped, packed, soiled, stacked, | |
| Gaping like a cracked open pi ata | |
| Counted, measured, copied, faxed, | |
| Pink tarantula teeth in our pina coladas. | |
| What' s cooking in your stain? come on taxman | |
| The sleepy clang of cash register fangs | |
| What' s cooking our sun? come on taxman | |
| The addictive hum of bubble gum slums | |
| Come on taxman! | |
| This withered milk tree that you call love collapses like an empty glove.. | |
| Feed it! yeah Suck it! yeah Own it! yeah Fuck it! yeah | |
| And we know that sewing on another asshole wont make us shit more, | |
| but who can resist a twoforone at the pink tarantula store? | |
| Pink tarantula! Yeah! | |
| Pink tarantula! Oh yeah! | |
| Pink tarantula! | |
| 1, 2, 3, go! | |
| When you wake up in the morning the rising sun shines through its frosted veil. | |
| We' ll always lay together dreaming of other people under the poison hail. | |
| You look so disgusting, all pink and puckered, covered with tarantula hair. | |
| You look so disgusting I can feel the sight rotting off of my prowling stare. | |
| And we know that TV fed us our first footsteps, | |
| but the Ketamine is gonna teach us, teach us, teach us, | |
| gonna teach us, teach us, teach us just how to crawl. | |
| We are the crosseyed children misled to yellow in tarantula webs. | |
| Yeah we are the gawkeyed children chained to rot in the designer fuck beds. | |
| Sleep, eat, own, fuck, | |
| Abandoned like a bombed out conversation. | |
| Phone, TV, sweets, suck, | |
| I pledge allegiance to the small talk nation. | |
| Wrapped, packed, soiled, stacked, | |
| Gaping like a cracked open pi ata | |
| Counted, measured, copied, faxed, | |
| Pink tarantula teeth in our pina coladas | |
| Pink tarantula! Yeah! | |
| Pink tarantula! Oh yeah! | |
| Pink tarantula! | |
| 1, 2, 3, go! |