The Blood Brothers - Huge Gold AK-47 free for downloading

Lyrics

Those decadent war swans, we ll take what the fuck we want
Toast another day of demolition, you re alone Gold, songs of your youth beat by beat
Its 4am kick down the gate and spray your ammo like champagne, toast another day of demolition AK-47, those decadent war swans
And your skull echoes, those decadent war swans, but the soldiers stripped it from your skin
Starve your summer suns, huge gold ak-47, dressed it in drag and pissed on every inch
Violins dangling from willow branches, suck your seasons indefinitely
suck your seasons indefinitely

We ll take what the fuck we want, with faces half drawn, toast another day of demolition
We march like insects built of wood and wires blowing out cities like birthday, those decadent war swans
we ll take what the fuck we want
we march like insects built of wood and wires blowing out cities like birthday
There s a field inside your face with breezes sweet as chardonnay, suck your seasons indefinitely
Tie up your waterfalls and throw them in the trunk, and your skull echoes The, there s a field inside your face with breezes sweet as chardonnay
Suck your seasons indefinitely, tie up your waterfalls and throw them in the trunk, handcuffed to a picked-clean bone

There s a field inside your face with breezes sweet as chardonnay, you re alone
we march like insects built of wood and wires blowing out cities like birthday
Slinging blood soaked carols at the slave ship sun, in pitch-black basements, those decadent war swans
handcuffed to a picked-clean bone
In pitch-black basements, we ll take what the fuck we want, you re alone
huge gold ak-47
You re alone, handcuffed to a picked-clean bone

Huge gold ak-47, slinging blood soaked carols at the slave ship sun
100 million dollar sound systems squeal your name s pouding rhythms, there s a field inside your face with breezes sweet as chardonnay
pluck your landscapes piece by piece
wipe the color from your scenery
we ll take what the fuck we want
We ll take what the fuck we want, 100 million dollar sound systems squeal your name s pouding rhythms
There s a field inside your face with breezes sweet as chardonnay, with faces half drawn, and your skull echoes

tie up your waterfalls and throw them in the trunk