Beck Lyrics Ipsum

'cuz one's got a weasel and the other's got a flag a donde ah, you know it's on. it's on. and all the streets, they reek of tropical charms and i am not a dog and i don't know if we're dead or what the fuck and i made them join my game and if i ask someone about you and she fucked me up the ass and there's weight-loss pills. A bird of song a laugh, a joke, a sentiment wasted a sister out of control an open road where i can breathe and all the distortion pedals are melted and i just started hating some people today. and i play with the fire in the stove and she dangles like a bottle and she got old fast and never did what she wanted and she speaks inside a cloud and the things that just eat away my soul and you sister, debra as he pulled out an uzi we turned and hauled ass as i crawled out the window with my shadow on the spoon.

'cause when our eyes did meet a paradise ambassador and i'm down to the sound and put it out with her dark sunglasses and the free hair growing on his sandwich and the rain's too plain to tell and the stance i took on that and the world is a holiday and there's a giant chicken claw above your head and they're safe from any harm as they pulled you out at the recreation center. 'cause we're on the good ship 666 up into a beligerant silence a life lived under glass a night that's so blue ah yeah, weed-whack that thing ain't no use in wasting no time all i need is all i need is two white horses in a line taking all my troubles'll hang on your trigger amen.....bazookas and fisticuffs medicating in porches and i tell how the people and i will throw you rocks today and i'm down with the deal and i've been lookin' for a new friend and if it's meant some accident, some coincidence and my instincts poisoned and noise that laughs, falls off their maps and say you knew me way back when and the ground is much too clean and the microphone all covered with flies and the telephones are down and these children leave their rulers behind as he pulled out an uzi we turned and hauled ass.

'cause it's getting hard to think a helicopter searchlight a perfect, stupid, cardboard reject a thousand miles away from home a town of disrespect, the trains are wrecked a traveling man with a trippin' hand ah, yeah ahh, everyone's out to get you, mutherfukka ain't it hard, ain't it hard alcohol on my hands alcohol please give me some alright here's a stupid song i wrote today and a man standing on a window and drained and gone and everything's perfect and everything's bright and i just started hating some people today. and i know that i'm dealing and i'm down with the deal and i've been like this before and if it ain't your time to go and make all the big boys scream and the backwater's calling your name and the typecast heathen with the future all rancid and wash me down the gutter and your ten inch stump another misspent night awaken primal feeling.