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  • 歌词
  • 标题:Hey Kid, I'm A Computer, Stop All The Downloading

    艺人:Fear Before The March Of Flames

    专辑:Art Damage

    作词:Fear Before The March Of Flames

    作曲:Fear Before The March Of Flames

    制谱人:Austin Mills

    节拍: Fast Hardcore ♩ = 186

    标记:IntroVerseChorusVersePre-VerseVerseVerseVerseVerseVerseVerseVerseOut-Chorus
    歌词:
    Count of three
    Everybody over dose
    They're coming with
    forks and knives to eat us alive,
    forks and knives.

    Victims in
    Cannibalistic
    Human race
    Proprietors
    Dog eat dog
    Colonization, dog eat dog.

    We sluts, we have, fattened and ripened in these
    LA castles. We rust in the milk that we've been fed
    (Stick ourselves with syringes and
    Scrape our lungs with dollar bills)
    We sluts, we have, fattened and ripened in these
    LA castles. We rust in the milk that we've been fed

    Nothing (this thing) anything (keep it on)
    That fatted us calves would now feed on.
    Nothing (this thing) anything (keep it on)
    That fatted us calves would now feed on.
    The soft parts of our lower backs.
    That fatted us calves would now feed on.
    The soft parts of our lower backs.
    That fatted us calves would now feed on.
    That fatted us calves would now feed on.

    You can't buy love. You can't sell feelings.
    You can't buy love. You can't sell feelings.
    We were meant to eat each other.
    We were meant to eat each other.
    You can't buy love. You can't sell feelings.
    You can't buy love. You can't sell feelings.
    We were meant to eat each other.
    We were meant.

    Have at me, have at me, have at me with your most primitive touch.
    You can't buy love. You can't sell feelings.
    You can't buy love. You can't sell feelings.
    We were meant to each other.
    You can't buy love. You can't sell feelings.
    Have at me, have at me, have at me with your most primitive touch.
    Secretaries now make great lovers.
    As do those, as do those, as do those we had never considered.
    The sound of cracking bones shall be the music that plays us out.
    The sound of cracking bones shall be the music that plays us out.

    Stick ourselves with syringes
    And scrape our lungs with dollar bills.
    Forge a roof that will hold us in and keep them out.

    We sluts, we have fattened and ripened in these
    LA castles. We rust in the milk that we've been fed.
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