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 and The Bad Seeds |
