Atmosphere "Gotta Lotta Walls" |
Dialed up his homie murs On the telephone Gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong Brain freezing up, he don't know what to do But the people that know him know that it ain't nothing new Catch five rings, then the answering machine Hang up on the bing stare up toward the ceiling Stood up to remember that he slept fully dressed So he grab his keys and put a hat on his rats nest Stepped up to that big outside Somebody once said today's a good day to die But he never really was a big fan of their work So he starts up the walk by kicking sand in the dirt A friend to the stranger a stranger to friends He'll take a coffee and a pack of cigarettes when you have a minute Handle it pay dough the change you keep it He's a sucker for the morning smile and summer cleavage If you knew him better he'd ask for some time Cause he's looking for a reservoir to empty his mind And there's only so much he can put in a song gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong And this house has got a lotta walls But only very few mean anything to you And this house has got a lotta walls But only very few mean anything to you And this house has got a lotta walls But only very few mean anything to you And this house has got a lotta walls But only very few mean anything to you No shock value to titilate Far from shallow, so demonstrate Blacktop, sidewalk, in the street Cause life is priceless And talk is cheap And as he sits (as he sits) in his 4 cornered room Following a tune, born to consume Carefully learning and analyzing the lyrics you use Finally realizing that humility is a bruise Scared love, don't make none If these walls could speak They would peep about the fake ones Watching this man falling off of this plan Underachieving just so he can understand And this house has got a lotta walls But only very few mean anything to you And this house has got a lotta walls But only very few mean anything to you And this house has got a lotta walls But only very few mean anything to you And this house has got a lotta walls But only very few mean anything to you So who did your tattoos? That's nice And who built your taboos? That's life If he had a glass pipe he would smash it And use it to slash his wrists Someone already beat him to it He would finger paint you a picture with his blood A self portrait, dramatic and morbid But the odds of you finding any appreciation are too slim Keeps his outlook grim Tap his foot to the rhythm of original sin Throw his balls to the wind Trying to knock down these pins He'll keep swinging from the hair above his chin Till he finds his soul in the 50 cent bin The price of the payphone escalates Fake smile when he takes home one of his dates He could write another hate poem for you to break Or maybe stay calm and wait for that big earthquake Still surrounded by the fire and the water Still trying to honor this empires daughter Still answering questions your afraid to ask Still believing gods gonna save his ass And this house has got a lotta walls But only very few mean anything to you And this house has got a lotta walls But only very few mean anything to you And this house has got a lotta walls But only very few mean anything to you And this house has got a lotta walls But only very few mean anything to you And If you knew him better he'd ask for some time Cause he's looking for a reservoir to empty his mind And there's only so much he can put in a song He's gotta talk to somebody who can tell him what the hell is wrong So, anyway, the girl was like, yo you motherfucker you gotta lotta walls You know, You don't show people shit You don't mistake that, you don't mistake that I just don't like motherfuckers Haven't met too many motherfuckers I like You one of them I hope that's enough Lyric from www.lyricmania.com |