Strike Up The Band

(альбом: Native Tongue - 1993)

Living off the friends we made
Never ever getting paid
Kicking ass and paying dies
Lose our mind in self abuse
Loving ladies by the score
Waking up and wanting more
I hope my mama understands
When I strike up the band

Well I spit my anger, as the sweat do fly
Fifteen years of paying dues just to get me by
Now the barkeeps would pay us by the crowds we bring
But those son-of-bitches never paid us one damn thing

And my poor daddy, he just don't understand
Its balls out tonight
Watch the shit hit the fan
When we strike up the band

Now those drop dead ladies line the very first row
I do believe I'd like to spend some time after the show
Now them years gone by, the barkeeps pay in cash
And them lovely ladies feed me an earful of trash

And my old lady, show just don't understand
Why those floozies got their hands on her man
And my poor daddy, he still don't understand
Why it's balls out tonight watch the shit hit the fan
Give it all that we can
We don't give a good damn
When we strike up the band

Living like a gypsy, and air conditioned hippie
Who's never seen the light of day
Rode dog and cowboy
Don't know how, boy
I ever live this long this was, no no said
And my poor daddy, he still don't understand
Why it's balls out tonight watch the shit hit the fan
Give it all that we can
We don't give a good damn
When we strike up the band