Olde English (Chillin' Like Gilligan) Testo

Bottle up pain and you were better off dead And I would rather love your daughter, but it's gone to my head Jukebox playing with the notion to explode Drag racers bent on bending the road Entertainers with no charms to speak of A circus of fleas, a band of spooks Neighborly ghosts looking at you Heavy metal music like a ratchet to a truck Glowing in the dark and you're just out of luck Walking with a suitcase and a crack pipe to boot Throw the dead bodies down a laundry chute Breaking bones, shattering knives Plow your face into a field, bury your eyes I packed my bags, I got out of town Yeah, I took up with a traveling show, but I couldn't stick around 'Cause the funhouse went all up in flames And the carousel horses leaped out from their chains I took a car, I was ready to drive I put down the top, I was more dead than alive One foot on the brakes, yeah one foot on the gas One foot on the brakes, a pocket calculator to count all your mistakes All nervous words that fall into a pile Living in some personality with no particular style I speak the sound of hollow logs and watch the dancing rags Tombstone skateboards and underwear flags Hide in a trailer park for a year or so Got some groceries, waiting for the beard to grow The old man next door said you won't live long I'm telling you, I said I know I always knew this was true But I been seeing things, and I been shedding a lot of skin And I found myself in a back of a burnt-out fire engine And then I took a long way at a dead end The end of the line, born with no name, the hard luck child Too many times caught between the extremes Bullfight blow flies border magazines A hundred eyes with a quarter of a brain Rock and roll, post-coital let down again Flamethrower, tv dinner, electric frozen grin Dragstrip, bullwhip, rocket ship tailspin Bluegrass, eyeglass, motion picture jam Cannonball, summersault, faker in the can I'm wound up, plastic wino breathing haze Umbrella shadows white light daze Convenient store fruit pie deranged men and more One-armed folksinger chewing on the floor Ragtime whiskeyman, bottle of snuff Box of junk and a crocket of stuff Chillin' like Gilligan...