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Broken Records letra
Well, it was all roses and wine circa 1999.
Back when my mentors spoke through headphones and my victories all had soundtracks.
I'm only getting back there just today
by the good graces of those to whom I ache to say "Thanks for playing the way you play."
'Cuz all I stand for are these broken records.
And all I stand for are these broken records.
You know what? Screw the kids.
Screw the battles I won't win due to the condescending ways by which I try to promote change.
Because when all is said, My heroes are all dead,
Save for those precious few who stayed as strong as the backbones of their protest songs.
Just when that needle hits the groove, walls shake, floors break, this body moves.
The smoky nightclubs are where I grew in 4/4 time.
Revolt, resist, and press repeat, I'm fighting with my tapping feet.
This time, this song, they're mine.
The local halls where I grew a spine.
I came alive again tonight watching the great blow minds
simply by taking the time to convince us we're in a mismatches fight.
You know I wouldn't change a thing.
To have grown up this way, nothing will ever be the same, nor could I go back to quieter days.
Just when that needle hits the groove, walls shake, floors break, this body moves.
The smoky nightclubs are where I grew up in 4/4 time.
Revolt, resist, and press repeat, I'm fighting with my tapping feet.
This time, this song, they're mine.
The local halls where I grew a spine.
And heart. And eyes. And a tongue to cut 'em all down to size.
You must excuse these tired lines, but they've always suited me fine.
I get what it means to gamble hard, to flirt with losing all but heart.
Got a dancehall putsch? Hey, you know I'm in it.
All for 78 revolutions a minute.
Just when that needle hits the groove, walls shake, floors break, this body moves.
The smoky nightclubs are where I grew up in 4/4 time.
Revolt, resist, and press repeat, I'm fighting with my tapping feet.
This time, this song, they're mine.
The local halls where I grew a spine.
And heart. And eyes. And a tongue to cut 'em all down to size.
This time, this song, they're mine, all mine.
They're ours.
Bombs Over Providence - Letras
- A Vision After The Sermon: Jacob Wrestling With The Junior Boys Soccer Team
- All The Good Guys Are Dead, And I'm Twisting My Moustache
- And The Award For Best Post-Coital Hug Goes To...
- Anybody Remember John Enis, Chair Of The Board Of Tourism For Bad Sex, Ont.?
- Black Friar's Union Of Thursday Night Anarchists
- Broken Records
- Bury My Eyes At 1510 King St. W.
- Class Aptitude Test Results Are In, And It's Martyr Or Matador For Everybody!
- Cobra Constant Committee Bake Sale
- Dig Them Up And Try To Reason With Them
- I've Got Your Revolution Right Here, Wise Ass
- May Cruise Missile Diplomacy Keep Us Truthful, Good, And Mild
- Pink Slip + 1:30% Resistance To Your Daughter's New Pony
- The 18th Brumaire Of Boomer Ellsworth
- The Grand Preamble (Annie Get Your Gun, Mask, Ductape And Some Matches)
- The Starving Artist Weight-Loss Program Works... To Varying Degree... Somethetimes
- Walkerton, Workfare, And The Wusses Who Watched
- What I Destroyed On My Summer Vacation
- You're Either With Us Or You're With The Satirists
- Zombie Cheerleader Slumber Party Massacre
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