Lyrics:
By Warren Zevon
C. 1970, United Artists Inc./Mr. Bones Music/BMI (1969?)/c. 1996 EMI-Capital Music Special Markets
My baby's sweeter
Lord, she's
There are no lyrics to this track. It is intentionally blank, with each of the 71 seconds representing one of the years that the artist's father,
Your next favourite artist (Artist , Artist , Artist)
You're my favourite artist (Artist)
Written by Warren Zevon 1970 United Artists/ c. 1996 EMI Capitol Records Special Markets
Jungle telephone
Ding a dong ding ding _____ with a red mud
A pastel scene in front of me
A rose’s stem between my teeth
Art’s not precious if the artist’s hand is not present
A few last names
A white-walled place
was seventeen that spring
Ah, we were just obeying orders
Ah, I still see everything
Through the factory's yellow windows
In the dirty stinking
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
Good artists copy great artists steal
introduced the oceans to the earth
Well whoever made the snowflakes
Made shadows where doubts lurk
I suspect an artist is at work
I know when an artist
skin
And when I feel it, you're wearing thin
But I've got a plan
Why don't you be the artist
And make me out of clay?
Why don't you be the writer
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