Guitar thug blew into town.
|
His eyes like wheels spinnin' round.
|
Jerkin-off at every sound.
|
Layin' all his crosses down.
|
O yeah.
|
He got Six Strings.
|
The Six Strings that drew blood.
|
|
The bar is full of Holy-Joes.
|
A Holy-hole-a-whole-aria.
|
Around the neck of our consumptive rose
|
is the root of all his sorrows.
|
O yeah.
|
He got Six Strings.
|
Six Strings that drew blood.
|
A Holy-hole-a-whole-aria.
|
Six Strings that drew blood.
|
|
In the bathroom under cover.
|
He turns on one tap to discover.
|
He's smashed his teeth out on the other.
|
Well he look in the mirror and say
|
don't fuck me brother.
|
Cause I got Six Strings.
|
Six Strings that drew blood.
|
|
Numbin' the runt of reputation they call rat fame.
|
Top-E as a tourniquet.
|
A low tune whistles across his grave.
|
Forever the master and the slave of his Six Strings.
|
A Holy-hole-a-whole-aria.
|
Six Strings that drew blood.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Six Strings That Drew Blood
|
| Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds |
