Paroles de Tic

Tic begins, where's the manner end? Climate change will never get in Silent and strong, prepossessed You never need to make your own mess Weasel to me, charming to some Loathsome and glib, habits like self-love Wearing slim fast, carve your niche Lean smug back, work your pitch And all the way I'm gone, no demon race to find You paint it up and know that any face can lie And all the way I'm gone, no demon race to find You paint it up and know that any face can lie Affect my greatest style, what suits me best of all I'll keep my pocket filled, lean right and fall