Hey Mr. Chips
|
how's the wife?
|
And are the kids still poison?
|
Do you still eat them?
|
Been under the gun,
|
running the guns
|
say how'd this world get so fucking fun
|
all of a sudden?
|
|
Here's a quarter for the phone
|
why don't you call someone and find out
|
how it is we can all belong
|
to something that no one
|
wants any part of
|
one day you'lll wake up and they'll be
|
advertising on police cars
|
and your death will sell you out
|
as someone smart,
|
somewhat smart
|
|
Baby don't get out out of bed,
|
just lay back down your pretty head
|
and they're advertising on police cars
|
|
Hey Mr. Chips,
|
had me a notion
|
like a burning sky dropped to the ocean
|
a bitter pill, is it better still
|
to lay undone your guts for show?
|
To reconstruct some of your bones?
|
To turn it up?
|
When it calls to you will you wake up?
|
|
They're advertising on police cars
|
your death will sell you out as someone smart,
|
somewhat smart
|
baby don't get out of bed,
|
just lay back down your pretty head
|
they're advertising on police cars
|
|
-----------------
|
Advertising On Police Cars
|
Matthew Good Band |