Search results for 'boy with the wooden lips by agent ribbons'

Yee yee! We've found 14 lyrics, 100 artists, and 100 albums matching boy with the wooden lips by agent ribbons.

on its face
They won't make these anymore
It's a wooden coach-n-four
No-one will even steal it
If you leave it by the door
No sign to mark it's going
imagination cook
She don't play by the rules
She don't go by the book

All the boys want to know if she's got something to hide
All the girls are relieved
Once you hear the whistle, even Grandmas is stackin' up on old wooden pistols 
Nobody's thinking by the time you're done blinking 
Cold freezer,
rose a sad, old colored preacher from his little wooden desk
With a manner sort of awkward and countenance grotesque
The simplicity and shrewdness in his

Rose a sad, old colored preacher from his little wooden desk 
With a manner sorta awkward, and countenance grotesque 
The simplicity
and tied ribbons in his hair.
He woke for bare a moment but she wouldn't let him weep.
With lips of only roses kissed him down to sleep. 

So royal loyal
know, sneak it in with they friends at the job
Happy hour at the bar while this song is in they car
And even if they've never said it, lips stay sealed
think about that
Would he get that type of dap if his name was Woody Black?
O.J. found innocent by a jury of his peers
And they been fuckin with that
little mammy, what'll it be? hips or lips?

Harry snatches sister ob'dewlla 'x' away from thing-fish, bashing himself with it in an irrational manner.
and spitting basic complex combinatrix,
For the agents trying to hack into my Matrix!
Five out of ten cases are found with their heads hacked off
In several
The moments were subtle but unstolen and guess who owns them
No friendly, non-threatening corporate lacky mucks in the totem
Lucy was in the sky with diamonds
they're still Black With NV
I go by the name of the Sugar Dick Daddy Lawnge, ripping the song
Suckers see me, want to be me, but IÆm creamy and theyÆre
our hands together like Baby with cameras around
Manic depressed, drawn to my tool
Genetically predisposed to be a mechanic or less
I handle my failures
By agents of Her Majesty's Government, with a plastic bullet.
They say that plastic bullets were designed not to kill,
They do.
I say that human