Lyrics:
The newspaper boy who says he
Will save an extra paper, and doesn't
The laundry that tells you your suit will
Be ready on Thursday and it isn't
Love, well yes,
newspapermen are such interesting people
When they know they've got a
People's fight to wage
Ting-a-ling-a-ling, Newspaper Guild
Got a free new world to build
smiled
Everyone fought for dimes
Newspapers screamed for blood
It was the best of times
Every place around the world it seemed the same
Can't hear
brain ---
newspaper warriors changing the names they
advertise from the station stand.
Circumcised with cold print hands.
Windy bus-stop. Click.
people done
All the newspaper men
they were lookin' for names
pulled him out of a hat
they needed someone to blame
Look what the good people done
tables
Our label's just too stable
Your magazine so motherfucking thin
You using staples to hold it together
It's turning back into a newspaper
Her world collapsed early Sunday morning
She got up from the kitchen table
Folded the newspaper and silenced the radio
Those creatures jumped
Dreamed I was flying high above the trees
Over the hills
Looked down into the house of Mary
Bare bulb hung, newspaper-covered walls
And Mary rising
on the subways of New York
New York, believe it (believe it)
Yesterday's newspapers
I wrap them around my body
Outside these skyscrapers
I wait for
the cows're in the corn
And I'm here a wishing I'd never been born
The newspaper said bout the world's goin' wrong
Ain't worried bout the world cause baby is
I get up every morning, drink coffee alone
My house it's too quiet, I'm the only one home
I let the newspapers pile up at the door
I can't be
your tongue trips
Deep dark, deep dark truthful mirror
Deep dark, deep dark truthful mirror
Now the flagstone streets where the newspaper shouts
Ring
the newspapers
Every day for naught on a year
They say we got tangled in a love triangle
A fatal game of truth or dare
But the truth remains a mystery
leavin' a trailer
On the rural route
Just walkin' home alone
On the rural route
Newspaper prints her fifth grade picture
From the rural route
Rural
tables
Our label's just too stable
Your magazine so motherfucking thin
You using staples to hold it together
It's turning back into a newspaper
was five police
Officers and three police cars, bein' the biggest crime of the last fifty
Years and everybody wanted to get in the newspaper story
Life is too short but now it's kind of funky
I make the beats for me and my homies
Newspaper reporters and others always ask me
Why I'm X-rated
(M: Uh, where's the verse...)
She used to bring me my, my newspaper,
(M: Here it is...
D: You don't even know where it's at)
'Cause she knew where
the revolution's near
But to me it seems quite clear
That it's all just a little bit of history repeating
The newspaper shouts a new style is growing
But it
the newspaper shouts ring to the boots of roustabouts
But you`re never in any doubt, there`s something happening somewhere
You chase down the road `til your
the revolution's near,
But to me it seems quite clear
That's it's all just a little bit of history repeating.
The newspapers shout a new style is growing,
But it
His eyes are closed his face pale asleep
On the ground a newspaper reads
The blood has spilled again
And you just dream my yellowman
Yellowman
the newspaper shouts ring to the boots of roustabouts
But you're never in any doubt, there's something happening somewhere
You chase down the road 'til your
debutantes smiled
Everyone fought for dimes
Newspapers screamed for blood
It was the best of times
Every place around the world, it seemed the same
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