Cold Songtext
von Serengeti
Cold Songtext
Never go to work, everything messy
Ashes everywhere, giant cans of Pepsi.
Constant updates, the van needs brakes,
Everything is grey, stolen like some plates.
Danger everywhere, kids got coats,
Dishes in the sink, place smells like moles.
Living side table, fantasize about boobs,
Into your 30′s, still wearing Jerseys.
Need to do burbees, take more showers,
Get yourself together, assume a spirit power.
Maybe is sobrevian, maybe need prestige,
Same conversation, the same old weeks.
I want a simple life, where we milk cows and cobras,
Choral snakes, soufflés of the light escapes.
More lightning, station exercise biking.
The same quality's found in the common Viking.
Floyd similar to the simioid, the finger, the cobra and the morning avoid.
They′re just game call boys in the dunn of their voice
All six of them, exotic like British men
I'm like, fellas, you could have worn a tony,
You could have been brothers like Josyah and Kony.
There's so much room, beautiful purple flowers bloom.
Check me out, man, I′ll be over soon.
The detective skills are golf dungeon, LA′s never been more safe,
The great escape is tougher. Like having a family complicates the ground on this side,
There's many things to be happy for, like living in Los Angeles with an unlocked door.
Beaver coats, pretty walls, snore atop the house for birds,
A total loss for you swore, to shake the land, the shiver′s cold.
The way of snore make in trees, the way of giving up the dreams,
Settle down into the soil, sprout another dream tutorial.
Naughty criminals versus the fire department, I follow them to the part where the sergeant
Exists out, with position to the sixth floor, hoses up the staircase, end up the front door,
We got 'em, those bastards won′t know what hit 'em.
Drop one up for the good guys, we got ′em, captain.
Hey, married to royalty, become a duke,
Make your buddies puke, 'cause you joined the new social loop.
Involving velvet, couples little belts.
Go to hell, suckers, enjoy living at your brothers,
In your cover smell like rubber,
Sleeping bags that cover the mole,
Walk into your car cold.
I'm sure that the quire is grey and old.
Ashes everywhere, giant cans of Pepsi.
Constant updates, the van needs brakes,
Everything is grey, stolen like some plates.
Danger everywhere, kids got coats,
Dishes in the sink, place smells like moles.
Living side table, fantasize about boobs,
Into your 30′s, still wearing Jerseys.
Need to do burbees, take more showers,
Get yourself together, assume a spirit power.
Maybe is sobrevian, maybe need prestige,
Same conversation, the same old weeks.
I want a simple life, where we milk cows and cobras,
Choral snakes, soufflés of the light escapes.
More lightning, station exercise biking.
The same quality's found in the common Viking.
Floyd similar to the simioid, the finger, the cobra and the morning avoid.
They′re just game call boys in the dunn of their voice
All six of them, exotic like British men
I'm like, fellas, you could have worn a tony,
You could have been brothers like Josyah and Kony.
There's so much room, beautiful purple flowers bloom.
Check me out, man, I′ll be over soon.
The detective skills are golf dungeon, LA′s never been more safe,
The great escape is tougher. Like having a family complicates the ground on this side,
There's many things to be happy for, like living in Los Angeles with an unlocked door.
Beaver coats, pretty walls, snore atop the house for birds,
A total loss for you swore, to shake the land, the shiver′s cold.
The way of snore make in trees, the way of giving up the dreams,
Settle down into the soil, sprout another dream tutorial.
Naughty criminals versus the fire department, I follow them to the part where the sergeant
Exists out, with position to the sixth floor, hoses up the staircase, end up the front door,
We got 'em, those bastards won′t know what hit 'em.
Drop one up for the good guys, we got ′em, captain.
Hey, married to royalty, become a duke,
Make your buddies puke, 'cause you joined the new social loop.
Involving velvet, couples little belts.
Go to hell, suckers, enjoy living at your brothers,
In your cover smell like rubber,
Sleeping bags that cover the mole,
Walk into your car cold.
I'm sure that the quire is grey and old.
Writer(s): Andrew Lloyd Webber, Jim Steinman Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
