there, Mick J. Sorrenson on the all night time machine, we're going to play some good songs tonight. ... I'm coming in Justified And Ancient Seems A Long
got too old to jump up and down (up and down) (so then what happened?) So he put the mic down and picked the guitar up (picked the guitar up) (and
Right! This life like dream ain't for me I fell asleep while watching Spike TV After 10 cups of coffee and you're still not here Dreaming of a song
eyes A bottle of pills, and a little on the wild side Saturday come, and Saturday go Hangin' out backstage, waiting for the show Suzie got a motor, Suzie got a guitar
sing you a song, i know that theres a 12:59 lullaby tonight. i'll see the next hour through, it falls to the next so soon. while my guitar waits for
like a hoe, bitch-slap him Do it for me, do it for Fred, do it for limp Do it for Rock, do it for rap, do it for Kid Do it for Ice-T, do it just to
started playing guitar and already they say I'm a has-been Say my songs are too long, words are too strong, shoes Aren't clean See the synthesizer's broken, the 12
He's the man with the banjo and the 12-string guitar And he's singing us the songs that tell us who we are When you look in his eyes You know that somebody
guy usually does stupid things for a girl. Like, if you let her borrow your acoustic guitar you got when you were 12, and learned all these songs on,
belong No one hears me sing this song In the garage I've got an electric guitar I play my stupid songs I write these stupid words And I love every one Waiting there for
FZ: We're shooting the uh, title sequence for Uncle Meat right now, which is the name of the Mothers of Invention movie that we've been working on for
a hoe, bitchslap him Do it for me, do it for Fred, do it for Limp Do it for Rock, do it for Rap, do it for Ken Do it for Ice T, do it just to do it,
I belong No one hears me sing this song In the garage I've got an electric guitar I play my stupid song I write these stupid words And I love every one Waiting there for
He said, son, now that's what I call music Listen to them guitars, turn it up, go on, turn it up He said, forget that crap you're listenin' to These songs
bet you're happy right now but where will you be when they ask you to beg for the cash you demand and you wake at a song 'cos it's all second-hand
spittin' Day's Work until the moon was a stray dog on the ridge and the taverns would be swollen until the naked eye of 2am, and the Stratocaster guitars
chased by hands of fans for autographs And police who say I left them a trail of bloodbath For killing instrumentals from snares & kicks now To guitars
suicide [Part 2: East 12th St.] Well nobody cares Well nobody cares Does anyone care if nobody cares? [x2] Jesus filling out paperwork now At the facility on east 12
