Lyrics to Holy Smoke (2005)
From the other side of gender-neutral bathroom stall
"Of all the assholes in this town I hate him most of all"
Every vodka mixer in the club was not enough
Nowadays it's Live Laugh Love and listen to Death From Above
Forward, morning after, cleanse your sins inside a dock dry bath tub
Between the hunt sabs, ACABs, sobbing, being sick
Hearing your name in the chorus left me prostrate in the pit
There is nothing here to set the scene
No notable geography, or pathetic fallacy
You're the only thought in my head
You're the only thought I've got left in my head
Don't get me wrong I love my friends' kids, sure they'll grow to be good leftists
Bet they'll make their parents proud and make the best of what they're left with
But they don't buy the beers I drink, and they don't drink the beers I buy
No children and no profession, walking dead at 37
Forward, morning after, naked if not for two blister plasters
She held a cold can of Summer Fruits between her warm thighs
Condensation glistens, sweat beads drip into my eyes
She's turning me to God no joke
Mother, daughter, holy smoke!
There is nothing here to set the scene
No notable geography, or pathetic fallacy
You're the only thought in my head
You're the only thought I've got left in my head
"Of all the assholes in this town I hate him most of all"
Every vodka mixer in the club was not enough
Nowadays it's Live Laugh Love and listen to Death From Above
Forward, morning after, cleanse your sins inside a dock dry bath tub
Between the hunt sabs, ACABs, sobbing, being sick
Hearing your name in the chorus left me prostrate in the pit
There is nothing here to set the scene
No notable geography, or pathetic fallacy
You're the only thought in my head
You're the only thought I've got left in my head
Don't get me wrong I love my friends' kids, sure they'll grow to be good leftists
Bet they'll make their parents proud and make the best of what they're left with
But they don't buy the beers I drink, and they don't drink the beers I buy
No children and no profession, walking dead at 37
Forward, morning after, naked if not for two blister plasters
She held a cold can of Summer Fruits between her warm thighs
Condensation glistens, sweat beads drip into my eyes
She's turning me to God no joke
Mother, daughter, holy smoke!
There is nothing here to set the scene
No notable geography, or pathetic fallacy
You're the only thought in my head
You're the only thought I've got left in my head
