Jolson And Jones 歌词

歌曲	Jolson And Jones
歌手	Scott Walker
专辑	The Drift
下载	Image LRC TXT

	作曲 : ENGEL NOEL SCOTT
	作词 :
	As the grossness of spring lolls its head against the window
	As the grossness of spring lolls its bloodshot head
	Curare! Curare! Curare!
	Brogue cries from the street
	Curare! Curare!
	As the grossness of spring rose
	A tumor balloon to squeak against the window
	With the grossness of spring staining into the walls
	The chair had been shifted ever so slightly
	Say five feet or two centimeters
	The prints of my fingers dusted from doorknobs
	A lamp had been dimmed
	Some sawdust where a ring had been
	Where nice girls were turned into whores
	Gardens with fountains where peacocks had strutted
	Where deaf children were born
	The splendor of tigers turning to gold in the desert
	Pale meadows of stranded pyramids
	Sonny boy
	such a sonny boy
	There's a song in the air
	Curare! Curare! Curare!
	But the fair senorita don't seem to care
	Curare! Curare! Curare!
	As the grossness of spring lolls its head against the window
	As the grossness of spring lolls its bloodshot head
	I merely got up so slowly
	Shuffled across the floor
	Closed the door on the landing
	Descending the stairs
	Dipping into the street
	The paralysed street
	Brogue says "Good afternoon!"
	I say "Good afternoon!"
	"It's a lovely afternoon"
	"Yes, it's a lovely afternoon"I
	Into pockets unstitching so weighted with pins
	Into eyes imploding on mazes of sins
	The puddle beneath the cork
	Bobbing on a mild chop that rolled in
	Off the river Dix and the open water beyond
	Brogue says
	"I'LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
	Then me
	"I'LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
	Brogue
	"I'LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
	"I'LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
	Sonny boy
	Such a sonny boy
	In her voice, there's a flaw
	Sonny boy
	Such a sonny boy
	E-e-aw and e-e-aw

	zuo qu : ENGEL NOEL SCOTT
	zuo ci :
	As the grossness of spring lolls its head against the window
	As the grossness of spring lolls its bloodshot head
	Curare! Curare! Curare!
	Brogue cries from the street
	Curare! Curare!
	As the grossness of spring rose
	A tumor balloon to squeak against the window
	With the grossness of spring staining into the walls
	The chair had been shifted ever so slightly
	Say five feet or two centimeters
	The prints of my fingers dusted from doorknobs
	A lamp had been dimmed
	Some sawdust where a ring had been
	Where nice girls were turned into whores
	Gardens with fountains where peacocks had strutted
	Where deaf children were born
	The splendor of tigers turning to gold in the desert
	Pale meadows of stranded pyramids
	Sonny boy
	such a sonny boy
	There' s a song in the air
	Curare! Curare! Curare!
	But the fair senorita don' t seem to care
	Curare! Curare! Curare!
	As the grossness of spring lolls its head against the window
	As the grossness of spring lolls its bloodshot head
	I merely got up so slowly
	Shuffled across the floor
	Closed the door on the landing
	Descending the stairs
	Dipping into the street
	The paralysed street
	Brogue says " Good afternoon!"
	I say " Good afternoon!"
	" It' s a lovely afternoon"
	" Yes, it' s a lovely afternoon" I
	Into pockets unstitching so weighted with pins
	Into eyes imploding on mazes of sins
	The puddle beneath the cork
	Bobbing on a mild chop that rolled in
	Off the river Dix and the open water beyond
	Brogue says
	" I' LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
	Then me
	" I' LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
	Brogue
	" I' LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
	" I' LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
	Sonny boy
	Such a sonny boy
	In her voice, there' s a flaw
	Sonny boy
	Such a sonny boy
	Eeaw and eeaw

	zuò qǔ : ENGEL NOEL SCOTT
	zuò cí :
	As the grossness of spring lolls its head against the window
	As the grossness of spring lolls its bloodshot head
	Curare! Curare! Curare!
	Brogue cries from the street
	Curare! Curare!
	As the grossness of spring rose
	A tumor balloon to squeak against the window
	With the grossness of spring staining into the walls
	The chair had been shifted ever so slightly
	Say five feet or two centimeters
	The prints of my fingers dusted from doorknobs
	A lamp had been dimmed
	Some sawdust where a ring had been
	Where nice girls were turned into whores
	Gardens with fountains where peacocks had strutted
	Where deaf children were born
	The splendor of tigers turning to gold in the desert
	Pale meadows of stranded pyramids
	Sonny boy
	such a sonny boy
	There' s a song in the air
	Curare! Curare! Curare!
	But the fair senorita don' t seem to care
	Curare! Curare! Curare!
	As the grossness of spring lolls its head against the window
	As the grossness of spring lolls its bloodshot head
	I merely got up so slowly
	Shuffled across the floor
	Closed the door on the landing
	Descending the stairs
	Dipping into the street
	The paralysed street
	Brogue says " Good afternoon!"
	I say " Good afternoon!"
	" It' s a lovely afternoon"
	" Yes, it' s a lovely afternoon" I
	Into pockets unstitching so weighted with pins
	Into eyes imploding on mazes of sins
	The puddle beneath the cork
	Bobbing on a mild chop that rolled in
	Off the river Dix and the open water beyond
	Brogue says
	" I' LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
	Then me
	" I' LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
	Brogue
	" I' LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
	" I' LL PUNCH A DONKEY IN THE STREETS OF GALWAY"
	Sonny boy
	Such a sonny boy
	In her voice, there' s a flaw
	Sonny boy
	Such a sonny boy
	Eeaw and eeaw

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