Marc And The Mambas - The Bulls lyrics
[Marc And The Mambas - The Bulls lyrics]
On Sundays the bulls get so bored
When they are asked to show off for us
There is the sun, the sand, and the arena
There are the bulls ready to bleed for us
It's the time when grocery
Clerks become Don Juan
It's the time when all ugly
Girls turn into swans
Who can say of what he's found
That bull who turns and paws the ground
And suddenly he sees himself all nude
Who can say of what he dreams
That bull who hears the silent screams
From the open mouths of multitudes
On Sundays the bulls get so bored
When they are asked to suffer for us
There are the picadors and the mobs revenge
There are the toreros, and the
Mob kneels for us, olé!
It's the time when grocery
Clerks become García Lorca
And the girls put roses in
Their teeth like Carmen
On Sundays the bulls get so bored
When they are asked to drop dead for us
The sword will plunge down and
The mob will drool
The blood will pour down and turn
The sand to mud olé!
The moment of triumph when
Grocery clerks become Nero
The moment of triumph when the
Girls scream and shout
The name of their hero, aaahh
And when finally they fell
Did not the bulls dream of a hell
Where men and worn-out matadors still burn
Or perhaps with their last breaths
Would not they pardon us their deaths
Knowing what we did at
Carthage Waterloo -Verdun
Stalingrad -Iwo Jima -Hiroshima -Saigon!
When they are asked to show off for us
There is the sun, the sand, and the arena
There are the bulls ready to bleed for us
It's the time when grocery
Clerks become Don Juan
It's the time when all ugly
Girls turn into swans
Who can say of what he's found
That bull who turns and paws the ground
And suddenly he sees himself all nude
Who can say of what he dreams
That bull who hears the silent screams
From the open mouths of multitudes
On Sundays the bulls get so bored
When they are asked to suffer for us
There are the picadors and the mobs revenge
There are the toreros, and the
Mob kneels for us, olé!
It's the time when grocery
Clerks become García Lorca
And the girls put roses in
Their teeth like Carmen
On Sundays the bulls get so bored
When they are asked to drop dead for us
The sword will plunge down and
The mob will drool
The blood will pour down and turn
The sand to mud olé!
The moment of triumph when
Grocery clerks become Nero
The moment of triumph when the
Girls scream and shout
The name of their hero, aaahh
And when finally they fell
Did not the bulls dream of a hell
Where men and worn-out matadors still burn
Or perhaps with their last breaths
Would not they pardon us their deaths
Knowing what we did at
Carthage Waterloo -Verdun
Stalingrad -Iwo Jima -Hiroshima -Saigon!