Dangers - Power Chord Blues lyrics
[Dangers - Power Chord Blues lyrics]
Liars! Liars!
All you bands should just retire
You sing the songs of hypocrites
Like nuns with guns or chicks with dicks
Two, four, six, eight
Buy our shit and regurgitate
I'm so bored with all of us
Kill yourselves!
Please, I'm down here on my knees!
I'm begging darlin' ease my worried mind
What makes you think you
Have something to say
That has not been said in a much better way?
I've got power chord blues
Ears jammed with feedback
Songs with no soul and even less of a sack
Went to the record store
What the fuck did I find?
Thousands of records by thousands of kids
With overpriced budgets but not one
Hint of a mind
Ludwig would be crying
Cash would slit your throat
Dee Dee wound up dying
Biz would hate your flow
Talk, talk, talk
Talk but you've nothing to say
(My headphones hate you)
Silence is golden when your sound
Sounds like my shit (My stereo hates you)
Say something new or say nothing at all
My eardrums hate all you Guitar Center
Punks with broken record syndrome
Songs of straight edge and friends
Shit we already know
What's the point?
Knock, knock, knock (Who's there?)
It's me, every song from 1983
I heard myself on your LP's (No way)
I did! (It couldn't be)
(See, we mix Cro Mags with The Clash)
Well it sounds like every
Other piece of trash aren't you tired?
Don't you want something new? Take back 1983
While you're at it, take the
Rest of punk rock, too
I want more
All you bands should just retire
You sing the songs of hypocrites
Like nuns with guns or chicks with dicks
Two, four, six, eight
Buy our shit and regurgitate
I'm so bored with all of us
Kill yourselves!
Please, I'm down here on my knees!
I'm begging darlin' ease my worried mind
What makes you think you
Have something to say
That has not been said in a much better way?
I've got power chord blues
Ears jammed with feedback
Songs with no soul and even less of a sack
Went to the record store
What the fuck did I find?
Thousands of records by thousands of kids
With overpriced budgets but not one
Hint of a mind
Ludwig would be crying
Cash would slit your throat
Dee Dee wound up dying
Biz would hate your flow
Talk, talk, talk
Talk but you've nothing to say
(My headphones hate you)
Silence is golden when your sound
Sounds like my shit (My stereo hates you)
Say something new or say nothing at all
My eardrums hate all you Guitar Center
Punks with broken record syndrome
Songs of straight edge and friends
Shit we already know
What's the point?
Knock, knock, knock (Who's there?)
It's me, every song from 1983
I heard myself on your LP's (No way)
I did! (It couldn't be)
(See, we mix Cro Mags with The Clash)
Well it sounds like every
Other piece of trash aren't you tired?
Don't you want something new? Take back 1983
While you're at it, take the
Rest of punk rock, too
I want more