Lyrics:
It's not my fault she wanna kick it like a ninja turtle
Spin the herbal journal the chronicles of the winner's circle
Too much of anything'll hurt
cut their fucking throat and use a needle to remove it
I dream a little dream
And taste the things they've seen
I chronicle their life story
My passion
Always in me
Some kind of melody
Blue ring journals
To rehearsals
To the staircase where till I would bleed
Board the train to New York City
Open
riding on the side?)
Yeah they running on the side!
Take two and pass it, it will not burn you
From the Long Beach chronicles to the Wall Street Journal
runnin' on the side
Take two and pass it, it will not burn you
From the Long Beach Chronicles to the Wall Street Journal
They all know the G with
on the side (They riding on the side?)
Yeah they runnin' on the side!
Take two and pass it, it will not burn you
From the Long Beach chronicles to the Wall
England
Sealed in a leather canister, the aged script was accompanied
By an ornate bronze key of unknown origin
The author of the journal remains
online you've heard me talk about it
We weren't originally gonna put it in setlist, but
Because of a few of our friends on the Live Journal Community
We
Imperator of the Night (Thus Spake the Chronicle of Shadows):]
Such adoration bestowed upon me beneath the cryptic moon!
Caressed by ululant lotus-stained
and you'll be happy
A happy smiling face is depicted while a drone delivers a product to a household
No doubt ordered online and packaged by a robot in a giant
after the blink.
Lady Eye?
It's your journal, Chronicle.
Pick up the phone.
You're on your way home, from yet another near death experience, oh no!
Iris
don't know
Got me diggin' through the chronicles
Kinda old-school feelin' like a dinosaur, just shine grow
And keep growin' until I'm kinda swoll', just
Technology can actually increase privacy
The question is
Why are our private details that are transmitted online
Or why our private details that
Technology can actually increase privacy
The question is
Why are our private details that are transmitted online
Or why our private details that
to follow through
But I won't
In my head writing journal's with your hands
Imagining your lips kissings into my under pants
Erotic thoughts coming through my
pretend to no end
We are bitches for your riches
My tide and my audacity
Of a handsome crook from Germany
A million sheets of patient paper
Chronicle
I’m mad at you and I miss you
And I care how you are, but I don’t need to know
I alternate in my journal
Between fuck you and I will never let you go
bodies out
I've drawn lines
Lotta people faking who they
Claiming to be online
Do it for the vine
Do it for the fucking gram
Cut me off the book once you
without love
Ain’t no bop in it
Chronicles of a heart pushed too far
I know my words went too far
Earn you back Let’s restart
I got a lot to say baby
And I know that online they be saying you a fake
But they don't know what it take to not deal with your mistake
So I guess it's on me just to check up
the forum old posts online
The soldier's gone out of time.
John Titor ride on through the night
Tear through the years out of sight
In a world that's black
Couldn't stop my greedy fingertips
From checking out online
And the deeper down I wandered,
sucker punch right to my spine -
I had to stop nine hours ago,
My first time online: 1995
My neighbor's new computer, we took it for a ride
Addicted from the start and it wasn't ending soon
In jpeg rooms seeing
you down
Pessimistic kind, clouds, blocking the sunshine, sometimes i feel like
It's a curse on my mind, if I stop, putting music online
Would my
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