I got a hair cut, a dress shirt A St. Paulie's girl But I don't need any of that I got a number on a napkin A soup can to sing through A tune in its worst mood I got a temper like a fistfight And a tab after midnight And a right fast woman And there'll be hell to pay After Los Angeles And you won't believe What I've seen This town is a workshop For wordsmiths and grifters And misters and misses And cheeks full of kisses And all of you bidders Can't wait till I'm bitter I've got a fever Like the boulevard summer And a right fast woman And there'll be hell to pay After Los Angeles And you won't believe What I've seen Bury me beside you when I die When I'm dead and gone Mama, sing me to sleep while you weep But don't weep at all 'Cause there'll be hell to pay After Los Angeles And you all won't believe What I've seen And there'll be hell to pay After Los Angeles And I'm just another fool along the scene You can find me in the back And if you don't fucking care Then why did you ask? You can find me in the back And if you don't fucking care Then why did you ask? You can find me well, in the back And if you don't fucking care Then why did you ask? Why did you ask? Why did you ask? Why did you ask? Why did you ask? © WIVES TALE PUBLISHING; CAREERS-BMG MUSIC PUBLISHING INC; Bu döküman AkorMerkezi.com'da yayınlanmıştır. http://www.akormerkezi.com