[00:00.000] 作词 : Tim Kinsella/Mike Kinsella/Davey Von Bohlen/Victor Villarreal/Sam Zurick
[00:00.000] 作曲 : Tim Kinsella/Mike Kinsella/Davey Von Bohlen/Victor Villarreal/Sam Zurick
[00:00.000]Let's fess up to fire CrackerJack snacks
[00:04.610]And a piggy bank built and filled
[00:09.626]To be spilled and broken
[00:13.657]Hammy fat fingers pinch
[00:17.207]Clammy cold coins
[00:19.206]All the leaves left
[00:22.079]Wither a sickly brittle brown
[00:30.358]I'm dying to tell you, I'm dying
[00:37.453]I don't need a reason
[00:59.269]You've got yourself such a comfortable trap
[01:05.628]Yes, I am talking to you
[01:08.634]Yes, I know this is shameless
[01:13.150]Yes, I am talking to you
[01:15.908]You've got yourself such a comfortable trap
[01:18.416]And you are shameless
[01:42.475]A matinee of sunshine ribbons on a sheetless mattress
[01:46.357]Moonlighting as swooning
[01:48.108]Moonlight isn't really from the moon at all
[01:50.364]I am shining smiles and flowery glows
[01:53.123]I am drunk in the breeze in the park chasing kites and splashing puddles
[01:57.634]Forget-me-nots in my gut
[01:59.389]That's what you get
[02:00.394]We nibbled our butter cookie rings to the knuckle
[02:02.719]Artichoke trophies choked down through Nevada sandy enzymes
[02:06.835]Past ribs choking scorching hearts
[02:09.094]Down to an autotrophic stomach
[02:11.222]I called her June until late last spring
[02:13.987]Quite possibly March leap year
[02:16.761]Automatic trophies aren't shit

作词 : Tim Kinsella/Mike Kinsella/Davey Von Bohlen/Victor Villarreal/Sam Zurick
作曲 : Tim Kinsella/Mike Kinsella/Davey Von Bohlen/Victor Villarreal/Sam Zurick
Let's fess up to fire CrackerJack snacks
And a piggy bank built and filled
To be spilled and broken
Hammy fat fingers pinch
Clammy cold coins
All the leaves left
Wither a sickly brittle brown
I'm dying to tell you, I'm dying
I don't need a reason
You've got yourself such a comfortable trap
Yes, I am talking to you
Yes, I know this is shameless
Yes, I am talking to you
You've got yourself such a comfortable trap
And you are shameless
A matinee of sunshine ribbons on a sheetless mattress
Moonlighting as swooning
Moonlight isn't really from the moon at all
I am shining smiles and flowery glows
I am drunk in the breeze in the park chasing kites and splashing puddles
Forget-me-nots in my gut
That's what you get
We nibbled our butter cookie rings to the knuckle
Artichoke trophies choked down through Nevada sandy enzymes
Past ribs choking scorching hearts
Down to an autotrophic stomach
I called her June until late last spring
Quite possibly March leap year
Automatic trophies aren't shit