Contactez-nous

• Artiste: Fatima Mansions (The)
• Titre: The White Knuckle Express
Assurez-vous que les corrections sont tout à fait exactes
S'il vous plaît, les mettez en évidence en quelque sorte!
Vous pouvez, par exemple, écrire
INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
CORRECT: avant la correspondant ligne correcte
Autrement, nous ne pouvons les corriger pas! Merci pour votre aide.
This truck stop: rancid gravy A man with no hands waving and the dog 'round my leg bumps and grinds It rains for miles out there on mud and tar and still air and the fungus-lined gap between stinking towns Pork-Eyes got him a brand new hand He's gonna grasp you He won't ask you and he'll tell you it's all your fault The cup runneth over, your jaws to bless on the white-knuckle express She is [grace?] naked, I cannot see her face She slides across me I am wearing a collar and a tie We're tuneful, cute and giving See, that's how we make our living In a hall full of corpses, we'd smile and bounce on Some say it's aimless bullshit but they come from big houses and budgets and, although I don't look it, I'm getting really fucking old Pork-Eyes, in the presence of a sweet young girl: He's gonna spill you, it better thrill you, or he'll tear this place apart Pork-Eyes! We're going up! Feet-first, feet-first! and the legend on that girl's thigh reads "Love = Hurt = Hate" Pork-Eyes, he will stroke your long hair tenderly in all the waterfront bars where the wine and hollow talk-of-men will muffle things that really, really are and you'll go back to your room with him on your healthy sandalled feet to come out minutes later, bleeding, torn above, torn underneath