Whaz' Zat Lyrics

	作曲 : Phillips
	Phillips
	Lightning slaying shadows
	In the tremors of the night
	While he creeps among the alleys
	Bringing fear before the fright
	She sleeps in tattered trousers
	In the ballroom's decadence
	Moaning gently of her dreaming
	By escorted precedence
	Antiquated babblings
	From a constant stream of thought
	Sensitively wringing out
	The rags that he has caught
	Patting yet her bulging belly
	She so slowly cries a smile
	In anticipated suffering
	Of her slowly growing child
	He is speeding in a vacuum
	Going nowhere but, of course
	He might believe in discipline
	Of a bloody kind of sort
	Naturally a state of race,
	A never-changing spate of hate
	While everything in some weird way
	Does manage to relate
	To her it doesn't matter more
	Its chasms have been leapt
	And she leans upon the skepticism of her chosen fate
	Stand tall, you spittle-smattered son of man
	Stand up, you hear them say
	To slap you down and kick your teeth
	And smile across the bay
	Irrelevant eloquent pleading
	Wasn't what she did this year
	She passed it by and told a lie
	And shed a crystal tear
	For him to see, from valley's edge
	From 0plateaus in the sand
	And yet he has beshit himself
	For being just a man
	A bragging crowing sort of twit
	A cast-off shade of pink
	Who's brought himself and all the rest
	Unto the very brink
	Yet that magic urge
	Continues on and plays continuum
	A song of pleasure and of pain
	Until that will be done

	zuo qu : Phillips
	Phillips
	Lightning slaying shadows
	In the tremors of the night
	While he creeps among the alleys
	Bringing fear before the fright
	She sleeps in tattered trousers
	In the ballroom' s decadence
	Moaning gently of her dreaming
	By escorted precedence
	Antiquated babblings
	From a constant stream of thought
	Sensitively wringing out
	The rags that he has caught
	Patting yet her bulging belly
	She so slowly cries a smile
	In anticipated suffering
	Of her slowly growing child
	He is speeding in a vacuum
	Going nowhere but, of course
	He might believe in discipline
	Of a bloody kind of sort
	Naturally a state of race,
	A neverchanging spate of hate
	While everything in some weird way
	Does manage to relate
	To her it doesn' t matter more
	Its chasms have been leapt
	And she leans upon the skepticism of her chosen fate
	Stand tall, you spittlesmattered son of man
	Stand up, you hear them say
	To slap you down and kick your teeth
	And smile across the bay
	Irrelevant eloquent pleading
	Wasn' t what she did this year
	She passed it by and told a lie
	And shed a crystal tear
	For him to see, from valley' s edge
	From 0plateaus in the sand
	And yet he has beshit himself
	For being just a man
	A bragging crowing sort of twit
	A castoff shade of pink
	Who' s brought himself and all the rest
	Unto the very brink
	Yet that magic urge
	Continues on and plays continuum
	A song of pleasure and of pain
	Until that will be done

	zuò qǔ : Phillips
	Phillips
	Lightning slaying shadows
	In the tremors of the night
	While he creeps among the alleys
	Bringing fear before the fright
	She sleeps in tattered trousers
	In the ballroom' s decadence
	Moaning gently of her dreaming
	By escorted precedence
	Antiquated babblings
	From a constant stream of thought
	Sensitively wringing out
	The rags that he has caught
	Patting yet her bulging belly
	She so slowly cries a smile
	In anticipated suffering
	Of her slowly growing child
	He is speeding in a vacuum
	Going nowhere but, of course
	He might believe in discipline
	Of a bloody kind of sort
	Naturally a state of race,
	A neverchanging spate of hate
	While everything in some weird way
	Does manage to relate
	To her it doesn' t matter more
	Its chasms have been leapt
	And she leans upon the skepticism of her chosen fate
	Stand tall, you spittlesmattered son of man
	Stand up, you hear them say
	To slap you down and kick your teeth
	And smile across the bay
	Irrelevant eloquent pleading
	Wasn' t what she did this year
	She passed it by and told a lie
	And shed a crystal tear
	For him to see, from valley' s edge
	From 0plateaus in the sand
	And yet he has beshit himself
	For being just a man
	A bragging crowing sort of twit
	A castoff shade of pink
	Who' s brought himself and all the rest
	Unto the very brink
	Yet that magic urge
	Continues on and plays continuum
	A song of pleasure and of pain
	Until that will be done

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