Testo di Fame Throwa

Fame thrower pass out the gold The diamond watch, the last reward All the things we hid before you sold us out and took it all Head-borne cries from zenith sluts Astral rites from dead-end ruts And these ends are sick-end wars These ends were sick and wars He's one of our nation's spies He's one of our first recruits I click with her leather thighs One of our first recruits How can you know? In the distance lies a grower Née rude-off, king fame thrower Son of groupie, bed-worn sexon Spent his cash convincing us that the desert was a star-scape Took our lives for a satellite so we could cry Naked, naked foul He's one of our nation's spies He's one of our first recruits I click with her leather thighs One of our first recruits