Julian Casablancas - Run Run Run lyrics
[Julian Casablancas - Run Run Run lyrics]
Teenage Mary said to Uncle Dave
"I sold my soul, you must be saved
Gonna take a walk down to Union Square
You never know who you're gonna find there"
You gotta run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you what to do
Marguerita Passion, I had to get her fixed
She wasn't well, she was getting sick
She went to sell her soul, she wasn't high
Didn't even know things she could buy it
And she would run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you what to do
Seasick Sarah had a golden nose
Hobnail boots wrapped around her toes
When shе turned blue, all the angеls screamed
There she didn't know
They couldn't make the scene
She had to run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you what to do
Beardless Harry, what a waste
Couldn't even get a small-town taste
Rode the trolley down to 47th
Figured he was good to get himself to heaven
'Cause he would run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you what to do
"I sold my soul, you must be saved
Gonna take a walk down to Union Square
You never know who you're gonna find there"
You gotta run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you what to do
Marguerita Passion, I had to get her fixed
She wasn't well, she was getting sick
She went to sell her soul, she wasn't high
Didn't even know things she could buy it
And she would run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you what to do
Seasick Sarah had a golden nose
Hobnail boots wrapped around her toes
When shе turned blue, all the angеls screamed
There she didn't know
They couldn't make the scene
She had to run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you what to do
Beardless Harry, what a waste
Couldn't even get a small-town taste
Rode the trolley down to 47th
Figured he was good to get himself to heaven
'Cause he would run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you what to do