|
we are only young |
|
but we style our future with a cattle gun |
|
we are idle rich |
|
so we smile for tomorrow with a bitch of an itch |
|
cause when the firelight shocks like a cop shop pyre |
|
well jack the politics for premonition and fire |
|
and well move like nuryev at night |
|
coast to coast |
|
side to side |
|
shines the light of fine enlightened minds |
|
coast to coast |
|
we are only young |
|
but we style out future in the shadow of guns |
|
we are not idle rich |
|
so we smile for tomorrow with a bitch of an itch |
|
cause when the stylized kick of the filmstar whip, |
|
cracks down on the millions, |
|
cracks the kids on the hips |
|
well be moving like nuryev at night |
|
coast to coast |
|
side to side |
|
shines the light of fine enlightened minds |
|
coast to coast |
|
side to side |
|
feel the steel that shines outside the blinds |
|
coast to coast |
|
side to side |
|
blades engraved with babies names |
|
while pylons hide the suicide |
|
coast to coast |
|
side to side |
|
shines the light of fine enlightened minds |
|
coast to coast |
|
side to side |
|
feel the steel that shines outside the blinds |
|
coast to coast |
|
side to side |
|
blades engraved with babies names... |
|
while pylons hide the suicides |
