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• Artiste: Dead Weather
• Titre: So Far From Your Weapon
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There's a bullet in my pocket burning a hole You're so far from your weapon And the place you were born There's a bullet in my pocket burning a hole You're so far from your weapon And you want go home I try to give you whiskey But I never do work Suddely you're begging me To do so much work I knew it from the get go The bullet was cursed Ever sunce I had you Every little things hurts You wanna get up ? Let go ? I say no You dream of seeing fire in them hills But you better wipe that smile from your lips Which of us will be the one to go? He who hits the road's the one who lives