Tangarine

Tangarine
Your son the little race hate foot-soldier

Your son the little race hate foot-soldier,
pointed a gun at people crossing the border.
Lived with a sleeping terror disorder,
coz he’s never been shown the way.

Twisted sister don’t sing him your song,
your eyes can’t seperate right from wrong.
Your brainwashed mind won’t change the way he feels.
Mother your wierd anti-Jewish lie,
sooner or later must end and die,
Coz your innocent child, makes it hardly to believe.

Listen misses constant in defence,
your mind is a passing progressive tense.
Turn the page cause your sences feel no grip.
Tell me whats the difference between black and white.
Everybody knows where all red inside.
The blood running through your vains really needs to slip.

Your son the little race hate foot-soldier,
pointed a gun at people crossing the border.
Lived with a sleeping terror disorder,
coz he’s never been shown the way.

How he’s lighting another cheap cigarette,
and his head and face covered by tears and sweat.
He was blinding his eyes by the barrel of the gun.
The mother believes that he’s innocent,
but woman your child has got no amend.
Here comes the pain that you need to make it done.
Oww he shot someone, yeah your son killed one!

Your son the little race hate foot-soldier,
pointed a gun at people crossing the border.
Lived with a sleeping terror disorder,
coz he’s never been shown the way.

walter

Toegevoegd door walter op ma 10 apr, 2006 10:03 am

Auteur: Tangarine
Componist: Tangarine
Uitgever: ?
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Taal: Engels

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