of Montreal - Marijuana's A Working Woman lyrics
[of Montreal - Marijuana's A Working Woman lyrics]
In the sensory overload chamber massage the
Android until it turns on
Die once every three minutes
Something to look forward to
Throughout your day
When people ask me my gender
I just tell them brunette
Oh their brains are on peroxide
Phony pride speaks only when
It should’ve cried
Naifs in decay return into TV
Depression stunned celebs who are
Suborning people who
Need people to get in your face
Catalog a new low and England
Is rife with lurchers
A jasmine chorus of mountain cur
She loves her Bowie-eyed bat faced girl
The shadow’s attempt on my life
Autumn breaks it’s back for new hauntings
We saw the White Witch of Glenwood then
Got high and watched ourselves as re-runs
In lemon-tinted glass fans curb auto-cleft
Musicians to play together
Pages of sound arc Andalusian raga
The bloated influencer in repose
In the part of the brain that karma
Allows anyone perfect to be chic
Maybe we should fight it always
Seems to make everything better
Maybe we should fight, maybe we should fight
Maybe we should fight it always
Seems to make everything better
Maybe we should fight, maybe we should fight
Maybe we should fight it always
Seems to make everything better
Maybe we should fight, maybe we should fight
Maybe we should fight it always
Seems to make everything better
Maybe we should fight, maybe we should fight
Maybe we should fight it always
Seems to make everything better
Maybe, maybe we should fight
It always seems to make everything better
Maybe
Forget your mind it’s not going
Anywhere, or it’s going everywhere
Which amounts to the same thing
Graveyard pinhead straddled ghouled tears
Of worm for
Somber tuft slitherer of eternal bate
Withholding naked calf brunette
Drowning partner
Itself’s forehead blood hiding the
Left hand to
Hovering mischief’s single dimension
Mis-cast imitator
Dance, tell a joke, worsen the mood
Listen to me
The ultimate purpose of white
Magic is to make
My face gleam with seven rays of ice
Cape heaps birds of no
Paradise in Ganzfeld experiments
Feeding hours fulminate evil
Serotonin uptake inhibitors
It’s a good night to cry, I
Don’t have any tears left, it’s
A good night to cry, I
Don’t have any tears left
It’s a fine night to cry
Depression eels committing thought crimes
How does it feel to be a bust?
Android until it turns on
Die once every three minutes
Something to look forward to
Throughout your day
When people ask me my gender
I just tell them brunette
Oh their brains are on peroxide
Phony pride speaks only when
It should’ve cried
Naifs in decay return into TV
Depression stunned celebs who are
Suborning people who
Need people to get in your face
Catalog a new low and England
Is rife with lurchers
A jasmine chorus of mountain cur
She loves her Bowie-eyed bat faced girl
The shadow’s attempt on my life
Autumn breaks it’s back for new hauntings
We saw the White Witch of Glenwood then
Got high and watched ourselves as re-runs
In lemon-tinted glass fans curb auto-cleft
Musicians to play together
Pages of sound arc Andalusian raga
The bloated influencer in repose
In the part of the brain that karma
Allows anyone perfect to be chic
Maybe we should fight it always
Seems to make everything better
Maybe we should fight, maybe we should fight
Maybe we should fight it always
Seems to make everything better
Maybe we should fight, maybe we should fight
Maybe we should fight it always
Seems to make everything better
Maybe we should fight, maybe we should fight
Maybe we should fight it always
Seems to make everything better
Maybe we should fight, maybe we should fight
Maybe we should fight it always
Seems to make everything better
Maybe, maybe we should fight
It always seems to make everything better
Maybe
Forget your mind it’s not going
Anywhere, or it’s going everywhere
Which amounts to the same thing
Graveyard pinhead straddled ghouled tears
Of worm for
Somber tuft slitherer of eternal bate
Withholding naked calf brunette
Drowning partner
Itself’s forehead blood hiding the
Left hand to
Hovering mischief’s single dimension
Mis-cast imitator
Dance, tell a joke, worsen the mood
Listen to me
The ultimate purpose of white
Magic is to make
My face gleam with seven rays of ice
Cape heaps birds of no
Paradise in Ganzfeld experiments
Feeding hours fulminate evil
Serotonin uptake inhibitors
It’s a good night to cry, I
Don’t have any tears left, it’s
A good night to cry, I
Don’t have any tears left
It’s a fine night to cry
Depression eels committing thought crimes
How does it feel to be a bust?