Lyrics:
My father promised me roses
My mother promised me thorns
My father taught me to use my mind
My mother taught me scorn
He touches me lightly with
From the day I was born, I took the bull by the horns, and gave you
Plenty to scorn, well right on! then you said in a song that life was
Gettin
As she onward sped, sure I scratched my head,
And I looked with a feelin' rare,
And I say's, say's I, to a passer-by,
"Whose the maid with the nut brown
Hate for hate and Ruth for Ruth
Eye for eye and tooth for tooth
Scorn for scorn and smite for smite
Love for love and guile for guile
He who is
licks his fingers and suffers Missy Bimbo's scorn
Circus town's been born
Oh, and a press roll drummer go, ballerina to-and-fro
Cartwheelin' up
licks his fingers and suffers Missy Bimbo's scorn
Circus town's been born
Oh, and a press roll drummer go, ballerina to-and-fro
Cartwheelin' up
born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort
born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort
Smoked a bong, killed a cat
Had my nuts attacked by rats
Dad got nude, I wore a thong
For a hobby I make bombs
Went to a farm to tip some cows
It went right by me
At the time it went over my head
I was looking out the window
I should have looked
At your face instead
It went right by
the strangers eyes
And who are we to criticize or scorn the things that they do?
For we shall seek and we shall find Ammonia Avenue
If we call for
Oh list to the lay of a poor Irish harper
And scorn not the strains of his old, withered hands
But remember his fingers, they once could move
Images on the sidewalk
Speak of dream's descent
Washed away by the storms
To graves of cynical lament
Dirty canvases to call my own
Protest
Oh list to the lay of a poor Irish harper
And scorn not the strains of his old, withered hands
But remember his fingers, they once could move
Septic incarnate
An enemy until your death
Scorn of the earth
Yo each his own
To me the most
By my hands you will feel my wrath
On your knees
In yellow coin
Could not bribe away the scorn
Which fastens up your mouth
For whom are those hard lips?
The hunters creeping through the green
Beside
really like it raw
In the closet like the rider type of whore
By the shore, I pulled a trick on her
But I'm collect any fix when I put the dick on her
hard to see
But you know when you're there
On the bottom words are shallow
The surface talk is cheap
You can only judge the distance by the company
really like it raw
In the closet like the rider type of whore
By the shore, I pulled a trick on her
But I'm collect any fix when I put the dick on her
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
That which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
O
don't nobody cap on
Slap on some D-R-E
Or some funky ass shit by the D-O double-G-Y D-O double-G
Real G's who drop ki's, protect these N-U-T's, so
will come but don't you hide
You are on your way
You're led by God but you're not a pawn
Should live your life, don't care 'bout any scorn
Just
Simon Diamond sold his soul
Changed his name by deed poll
Started out as Simon Russell
Lived his life inside a nutshell
Oooh ooooh Oooooooh
was born,
And laid within a manger,
Upon this blessed morn;
That which His Mother Mary,
Did nothing take in scorn.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
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