861 3 часа назад

Текст песни Atmosphere - Gotta Lotta Walls

Atmosphere - Gotta Lotta Walls слова песни

Dialed up his homie Murs on the telephoneGotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrongBrain freezing up, he don`t know what to doBut the people that know him know that it ain`t nothing newCatch five rings, then an answering machineHang up on the beep, stare up towards the ceilingStood up to remember that he slept fully-dressedSo he grabbed his keys and put a hat on his rat`s nestStepped up to that big outsideSomebody once said "Today`s a good day to die."But he never really was a big fan of their workSo he starts up the walk by kicking sand in the dirtA friend to the strangers, a stranger to friendsHe`ll take a coffee and a pack of cigarettes when you have a minuteHandle it. Paid up. The change, you can keep itHe`s a sucker for the morning smile and summer cleavageIf you knew him better he`d ask for some timeCuz he`s looking for a reservoire to empty his mindAnd there`s only so much he can put in a songGotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong(Hook 2X)And this house has gotta lotta wallsBut only very few mean anything to youAnd this house has gotta lotta wallsBut only very few mean anything to youNo shop value to titillateFar from shallow, so get it straightBlacktop, sidewalk,and the streetCuz life is priceless and talk is cheapAnd as he sits (as he sits) in his four-cornered roomFollowing a tune, born to consumeCarefully learning and analyzing the lyrics you useFinally realizing that humility is a bruiseScared love don`t make noneIf these walls could speak, they would peep about the fake onesWatching this man, falling off of his plan-Underachievin` just so he can understand. (Crazy reverse speech.)(Hook)So, who did your tattoos?That`s niceAnd who built your tabboos?That`s lifeIf he had a glass pipe, he would smash it and use it to slash his wristsBut someone already beat him to itHe would fingerpaint you a picture with his bloodA self-portrait, dramatic and morbidBut the odds of you finding any appreciation are too slim-Keeps his outlook grimTap his foot to the rhythm of original sinThrow his balls to the wind trying to know down these pinsHe`ll keep swinging from the hair above his chinTill he finds his soul in the fifty cent binThe price of the payphone escalatesFake smile when he takes home one of his datesHe could write another hate-poem for you to breakOr maybe stay calm and wait for that big earthquakeStill surrounded by the fire and the waterStill trying to honor this empire`s daughterStill answering questions you`re afraid to askStill believing that God`s gonna save his ass(Hook)If you knew him better he`d ask for some timeCuz he`s looking for a reservoire to empty his mindAnd there`s only so much he can put in a songGotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong

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