This truck stop: rancid gravy
A man with no hands waving
and the dog 'round my leg b**ps 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
CHORUS:
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 f****** 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"--CHORUS
Pork-Eyes, he will stroke your long hair tenderly in all the waterfront bars
where the wine and hollow talk-of-men will m***le 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...
A man with no hands waving
and the dog 'round my leg b**ps 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
CHORUS:
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 f****** 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"--CHORUS
Pork-Eyes, he will stroke your long hair tenderly in all the waterfront bars
where the wine and hollow talk-of-men will m***le 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...