Kurt Vile - Run Run Run lyrics
[Kurt Vile - Run Run Run lyrics]
Teenage Mary said to Uncle Dave
"I sold my soul, 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 whatcha do
Marguerita Passion, I had to get her fixed
She wasn't well, she was getting sick
Went to sell her soul, she wasn't high
Didn't know, thinks she could buy it
She gotta run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you whatcha do now
Seasick Sarah had a golden nose
Hobnail boots wrapped around her toe
When she turned blue, all thе angels screamed
Thеy didn't know
They couldn't make the scene
They gotta run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you whatcha do tell you whatcha do
Tell you whatcha do tell you whatcha do
Beardless Harry, what a waste
Couldn't even get a small-town taste
Rode the trolleys down to 47th
Figured he was good to get himself to Heaven
He had to run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you whatcha do
"I sold my soul, 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 whatcha do
Marguerita Passion, I had to get her fixed
She wasn't well, she was getting sick
Went to sell her soul, she wasn't high
Didn't know, thinks she could buy it
She gotta run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you whatcha do now
Seasick Sarah had a golden nose
Hobnail boots wrapped around her toe
When she turned blue, all thе angels screamed
Thеy didn't know
They couldn't make the scene
They gotta run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you whatcha do tell you whatcha do
Tell you whatcha do tell you whatcha do
Beardless Harry, what a waste
Couldn't even get a small-town taste
Rode the trolleys down to 47th
Figured he was good to get himself to Heaven
He had to run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run, Gypsy death and you
Tell you whatcha do