All violence was ugly, all property was theft
You asked us for directions, we'd send you to the left
We’d celebrate resistance and taking on the man
Survival of the weakest, living while you can
Seen our share of protest and taking to the streets
We'd felt the sting of batons as we'd sat in front of jeeps
We’d stared through broken windows in the G.P.O
We bled with Pearse and Connolly — ah, but what do they know?
The Land of Saints and Scholars is rotten till the core
There's not enough new music, there's too many four-by-fours
And all I see are houses, ah but none were built for me
Or anyone who I know, but we're not complaining
Santa made our Christmas, brought Star Wars down to Earth
With plastic X-wing fighters, he'd get his money's worth
With A-Team walkie talkies, we'd try and hear the Brits
We'd chance our arm for hours, and that was good enough for us
All the kids these days are different, their calls go through my head
You don’t see many smiling, their innocence is dead
They’re cheeky to their mothers, they'll call them by their name
Their das sit back and let them, do they not feel the same?
The Land of Saints and Scholars is rotten till the core
There’s not enough new music, there's too many four-by-fours
And all I see are houses, ah but none were built for me
Or anyone who I know, but we're not complaining
I worshipped Norman Whiteside, me da loved Geordie Best
We both loved Alex Higgins, three drunkards at their best
But Sundays were for Gaelic, I'd train two nights a week
I’d take a slap for Forkhill, turn the other cheek
But now they're putting men in cages, where they're tore apart like dogs
You can bring your wife and children; they can jump around like frogs
It's bloodsport for the masses, a dark satanic pit
If this is entertainment, I want no part in it
Jessie Reyez 'RIDIN' (Live Performance) | Genius Open Mic
[Verse 2]
Santa made our Christmas, brought Star Wars down to Earth
With plastic X-wing fighters, he'd get his money's worth
With A-Team walkie talkies, we'd try and hear the Brits
We'd chance our arm for hours, and that was good enough for us
All the kids these days are different, their calls go through my head
You don’t see many smiling, their innocence is dead
They’re cheeky to their mothers, they'll call them by their name
Their das sit back and let them, do they not feel the same?
[Chorus]
The Land of Saints and Scholars is rotten till the core
There’s not enough new music, there's too many four-by-fours
And all I see are houses, ah but none were built for me
Or anyone who I know, but we're not complaining
[Verse 3]
I worshipped Norman Whiteside, me da loved Geordie Best
We both loved Alex Higgins, three drunkards at their best
But Sundays were for Gaelic, I'd train two nights a week
I’d take a slap for Forkhill, turn the other cheek
But now they're putting men in cages, where they're tore apart like dogs
You can bring your wife and children; they can jump around like frogs
It's bloodsport for the masses, a dark satanic pit
If this is entertainment, I want no part in it
The Land of Saints and Scholars is rotten till the core
There's not enough new music, there's too many four-by-fours
And all I see are houses, ah but none were built for me
Or anyone who I know, but we're not complaining
The Land of Saints and Scholars is rotten till the core
There's not enough new music, there's too many four-by-fours
And all I see are houses, ah but none were built for me
Or anyone who I know, but we're not complaining
You asked us for directions, we'd send you to the left
We’d celebrate resistance and taking on the man
Survival of the weakest, living while you can
Seen our share of protest and taking to the streets
We'd felt the sting of batons as we'd sat in front of jeeps
We’d stared through broken windows in the G.P.O
We bled with Pearse and Connolly — ah, but what do they know?
The Land of Saints and Scholars is rotten till the core
There's not enough new music, there's too many four-by-fours
And all I see are houses, ah but none were built for me
Or anyone who I know, but we're not complaining
Santa made our Christmas, brought Star Wars down to Earth
With plastic X-wing fighters, he'd get his money's worth
With A-Team walkie talkies, we'd try and hear the Brits
We'd chance our arm for hours, and that was good enough for us
All the kids these days are different, their calls go through my head
You don’t see many smiling, their innocence is dead
They’re cheeky to their mothers, they'll call them by their name
Their das sit back and let them, do they not feel the same?
The Land of Saints and Scholars is rotten till the core
There’s not enough new music, there's too many four-by-fours
And all I see are houses, ah but none were built for me
Or anyone who I know, but we're not complaining
I worshipped Norman Whiteside, me da loved Geordie Best
We both loved Alex Higgins, three drunkards at their best
But Sundays were for Gaelic, I'd train two nights a week
I’d take a slap for Forkhill, turn the other cheek
But now they're putting men in cages, where they're tore apart like dogs
You can bring your wife and children; they can jump around like frogs
It's bloodsport for the masses, a dark satanic pit
If this is entertainment, I want no part in it
Jessie Reyez 'RIDIN' (Live Performance) | Genius Open Mic
[Verse 2]
Santa made our Christmas, brought Star Wars down to Earth
With plastic X-wing fighters, he'd get his money's worth
With A-Team walkie talkies, we'd try and hear the Brits
We'd chance our arm for hours, and that was good enough for us
All the kids these days are different, their calls go through my head
You don’t see many smiling, their innocence is dead
They’re cheeky to their mothers, they'll call them by their name
Their das sit back and let them, do they not feel the same?
[Chorus]
The Land of Saints and Scholars is rotten till the core
There’s not enough new music, there's too many four-by-fours
And all I see are houses, ah but none were built for me
Or anyone who I know, but we're not complaining
[Verse 3]
I worshipped Norman Whiteside, me da loved Geordie Best
We both loved Alex Higgins, three drunkards at their best
But Sundays were for Gaelic, I'd train two nights a week
I’d take a slap for Forkhill, turn the other cheek
But now they're putting men in cages, where they're tore apart like dogs
You can bring your wife and children; they can jump around like frogs
It's bloodsport for the masses, a dark satanic pit
If this is entertainment, I want no part in it
The Land of Saints and Scholars is rotten till the core
There's not enough new music, there's too many four-by-fours
And all I see are houses, ah but none were built for me
Or anyone who I know, but we're not complaining
The Land of Saints and Scholars is rotten till the core
There's not enough new music, there's too many four-by-fours
And all I see are houses, ah but none were built for me
Or anyone who I know, but we're not complaining
envoyé par Dq82 - 17/10/2024 - 11:42
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The Verbal Hand Grenade