Текст песни Lottery

Misfortune, got you like a sickness the saints and angels all agree trouble sure as trouble sees it I need it in writing to believe to believe the target was your heart in the beginning now there digging soft ground for your grave I hope the mourners will bring plastic flowers they'll drink to your death with pink champagne pink champagne now I hear your widow crying her weaping I made into this song it's popular with the disco dancers they'll play it on the radio all week long all week long misfortune, got you like a sickness and the saints, the angels all agree trouble sure as trouble sees it I need it in writing to believe to believe