Lyrics:
and silent I stand
Like some dime store Dalai Lama
I been searching high and low...
Angel, devil, it's all the same
Each one knows me by name
hold
A year passes by and Francis the Bruce, visits with his acoustic guitar
The year after that, a colour set; times worthy of B, G and R
Mull
The songs that were left behind
Time flies by so very fast
I've got Memphis on my mind
Made my way to Memphis, Tn
Strumming hard on these old guitar strings
guitars
I dream I give my love once more
To the matador
To the matador
And as he leaves the ring they cheer
Sombreros fly into the air
And I throw
places where they don't get to vote
To control unwanted forms of mass behavior)
Environmental laws were not passed
To protect our
Air and water they were
songs survive
On records
95 beats per second
Get it mike on the guitar c'mon wreck it
You go ooh ahh there go them superstars, of soul
20 times better
songs survive
On records
95 beats per second
Get it mike on the guitar c'mon wreck it
You go ooh ah there go them superstars, of soul
Twenty times
to the hood
Where the stealers and the raiders keep it goin' at (goin')
And the bubblegum kush is what we blowin' back (blowin' back)
We slide by Nip's spot
brunt, job done
Can't stop the shine, stop trying
You in the air, up there, better stop flying
Can't stop lying than better you stop liming
Before my
roll
[ guitar ]
But it's a mighty rough road from Lynchburg to Danville
With a line on a three mile grade
It was on that grade that he lost his
Lie down, fair one and come away
'Til the rain is over and gone
G-g-gimme the beat now (face the music)
Leadline
(Face the music)
If the air
Remember back about five years ago
Drivin' down the highway
Saw a kid there by the road
Long blond dirty hair
His thumb out in the air
That was
should do
This isn't school, does it bother me? A bit
I still wanna be rated by some prick
You're not DIY, you're a fucking twat
You look like Fred
The golden sand beneath my feet
There's music in the air
A guitar in my hand
I'm sure you understand all this is magic
No matter where the wind blows
got guitars and trumpets and sweet senoritas who won't want to let you go
You'd never believe such a happy town had a street called Sonora's death row
don't you blow for me
[Chorus x4]
Tales of the F-you-N-K-why, tales of the funky
She said, I know the drummer can you let me in?
Tell the guitar player
as it lays
On this cheap guitar
The action sits too high
But we don't play anything hard
Just cowboy songs
We know by heart
Sleep on your rug
'Til
that double barrel twelve gauge
To me, nothin' sweeter than a Georgia peach
Playin' air guitar to a song I sang, a song I sang
Talkin' 'bout
That
hot
If you're not original rockers you will get shot
Down by the kids neglectin' your art, the stuff you did
Eventually it get so bad puts you to bed
hot
If you're not original rockers you will get shot
Down by the kids neglectin' your art, the stuff you did
Eventually it get so bad puts you to bed
scream but the mouth was too far
And I broke my guitar
Trying to paddle us free
I found me a pocket of air
But with a knife in her hair
She was
They've got guitars and trumpets and sweet senoritas
Who won't want to let you go
You'd never believe such a gay happy town
Had a street named Sonora's
The Beat
Music by P. Sikora,
Lyrics by T.Nystrand
All vocals: Riku Turunen
Drums: Mirka Rantanen
Guitars: Antti Wirman
Keyboards: Piotr Sikora
Words are melting in the air
For no-one to hear
Broken glass, abandoned rooms
And flowers are sear
All the days
Are the same
All the nights
Long
Discuss these air guitar by afrojack Lyrics with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In