Can you cut that tendon at the back of my hip I can’t run away, my bones congeal The stakes are simple, shit and bile But you just don’t get it (No you just don’t get it)
You must hook up with me for a year round summer ’Cos when the cold comes, you stay and sit number But I’m sure ice would melt in your glove And you just don’t get it (No you just don’t get it)
And it just can’t hurt any worse than before Strike a match and bolt the door You get nothing back ‘cos you’re gonna go down By my own hand (By my own hand) By my own hand (By my own hand) Yeh
So I’m one bad gig out of the Jason recliner One bad song and I’m back at the diner Yeh, eating your scraps, cleanin’ your crap But you just don’t get it (You want chips with that?)
I hate your ambition, hell I even hate mine Makes me holograms and little things and water out of wine But you won, yeh hon, well fuck it I’m done And I just don’t get it (No you just don’t get it)
And it just can’t hurt any worse than before You get it now, I was nothing more You get nothing more, you’re gonna go down By my own hand (By my own hand) By my own hand (By my own hand)
Pills for pills sake (pills for pills sake) Liquor for God sake (liquor for God sake) Your tryin’ to fix a shark wound With a cotton ball, Yeh
My own hand (By my own hand) My own hand (By my own hand)
So get me to the airport and throw me on a plane Do the sentimental tango and send me off again I’ll bounce right back ‘cos I’m gonna go down By my own hand (By my own hand) By my own hand (By my own hand) Yeh
Bring on the new sound
Compositor: Tim Adrian Rogers ECAD: Obra #26755184