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Текст (слова) песни: Buck 65 - Sore

Vultures and helicopters, overhead I`m breaking down
Used car blues, it`s no time to joke around
The only solution I can think of so far
Is to smash out the windows with a crowbar
And as the headlights shatter into stars one by one
I curse at the road and try to knock out the sun
I kick in the corner panels, son of a whore
The paint starts to chip off as I rip off one of the doors

Same hotel room again with the right mixture
Of terrible smells and dead flies in the light fixture
I listen to the oldies station, half asleep and kind of smokey
Girl in the next room is howling like a coyote
Hand in my pants, feeling like a phyllistine
All eyes empty, every door way a guillotine
I`m drunk on loneliness, out of shape and half eaten
The phone don`t work and God`s in a staff meeting

Out of breath at the end of a long summer
Waiting for a phone call that isn`t a wrong number
A smile from a pretty girl, feet don`t fail me
I sleep like a baby and get out of jail free
I spit my teeth in my hand and read the classifieds
Poke holes in my memories until I`m satisfied
I`m drawn to familiar environments and dangers
I look at my photo albums and all I see are strangers

 

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