歌词
Fame throwa pass out the gold
The diamond watch, the last reward
All the things we hid before you sold us out and took it all
Head-borne cries from zenith sluts
Astral rites from dead-end ruts
And these ends are sick-end wars
And these end were sick-end wars
He's one of the nation's spies
He's one of our first recruits
I click with her leather thighs
He's one of our first recruits
Sha la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
Sha la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
How can you know?
In the distance lies a grower
Née rude-off, king fame thrower
Son of groupie, bed-worn sexon
Spent his cash convincing us
That the desert was a starscape
Took our lives for a satellites
So we could cry:
"Naked, naked foul"
He's one our nations spies
He's one of our first recruits
I click with her leather thighs
One of our first recruits