|
Guitar thug blew into town |
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His eyes like wheels spinnin' round |
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Jerkin-off at every sound |
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Layin' all his crosses down |
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O yeah |
|
He got six strings |
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The six strings that drew blood |
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The bar is full of holy-joes |
|
A holy-hole-a-whole-aria |
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Around the neck of our consumptive rose |
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Is the root of all his sorrows |
|
O yeah |
|
He got six strings |
|
Six strings that drew blood |
|
A holy-hole-a-whole-aria |
|
Six strings that drew blood |
|
In the bathroom under cover |
|
He turns on one tap to discover |
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He's smashed his teeth out on the other |
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Well he look in the mirror and say |
|
Don't fuck me brother |
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Cause i got six strings |
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Six strings that drew blood |
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Numbin' the runt of reputation they call rat fame |
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Top-e as a tourniquet |
|
A low tune whistles across his grave |
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Forever the master and the slave of his six strings |
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A holy-hole-a-whole-aria |
|
Six strings that drew blood. |
