1. |
All out of bubblegums
01:23
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quick, someone take a picture
it's the perfect moment to celebrate
but while youre testing new dancemoves
i’ll go out and get a glass of pure hate
cause I cant stand this bullshit anymore
three cheers for the holy masquarade
these fucked up lies (of yours),
they allready turned into a culture
a sick cult of disguise raised you
to be an unashamed vulture
fed on its own rotting broken bone
beloved kings of fakeness, on their shit-throne
rock the party, invite your friends in,
but forgive me if i just sit there and dont dancing.
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2. |
K. Tamás gyilkos
01:01
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ha elmész szavazni akkor a kurva anyád
miattad tart még mindig itt ez az ország
én megértem, ha fontos neked
de ideje felnyitni a szemed
elmúltak már azok az idők
mikor adtak bárki szavára
magyaroszág régóta csak
náci seggek hazája
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3. |
||||
what does this mean to you anyway?
im pretty sure its more than getting drunk while getting old,
from night to night, show by show
hollow freedom by worn-out chords
versus the glory of your old records
the message is hidden in the lyrics that you adore:
turn 30, get a job, and let them rape your soul
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4. |
Cheap escapes
01:56
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where will we hide when our vans shoes fade out?
when the songs loose their meanings, what your haircut’s about?
did you really think that our whole fucking substance is a fine answer to the way things are?
i do. but I never thaught that being a dumb stereotype could ever make any kind of difference.
ignorance spreads all over the kids every fucking day, its written on the walls and echoes from every shouted cliche.
your concept of „rebellion” leaves nothing left but a bunch of clowns dressed up like they know it better, but they’ll all give it up when the circus drowns.
so we better start to buy new „clothes”, and change the way we think/pose to an oppose.
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5. |
The óbuda method
01:47
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i'm walking through the streets
windows, trees, and piss
and yet so strange but familiar feelings
hide behind all this
this isn’t home
this is not our home
it's hard to see the stars
through all the neon lights
they draw out a bitter constellation
about two million screwed-up lifes
the cold of this night reminds me
and takes me back to a different time,
it wasn’t so long ago
where once there were shiny hopes about
living punkrock in our own way,
now its just an other show.
we’ll walk home alone, and earphones will light the way
our head will pulse to the beat of our footsteps fading away
and everyone else chose a life to live
i guess I’d do the same if I’d have any fucks left to give
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6. |
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i was sitting right here.
i was looking for a beer
before the bands all started to play
that time I used to love
those feelings you got rid of
before we faulted and you walked away
so there was my face
looking over you
we shared our favorite band
memories they fade, but im sure I knew
that our „future” cannot became our „past”.
but in the end it did
and the show was over, but it rings through the days
spent down behind cellardoors.
it's sings a song that we all know
about parking lots and summer’s glow
about nights when we got so high
we couldnt sleep so watched the cars go by
but now you are many years away
and i'm just one beer away from throwing up
but hey, that was a really good friday
we’ve got our shadows outlined by streetlights and glowing sidewalkchalk
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7. |
Blueprint
02:12
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another summer left its stub in the winter’s tray
so it feels ok to not forget but to forgive the night when we last met.
go, grab a cigarette and try to walk this fucked up path.
cause it wasnt that easy as you think it was.
making mixtapes of mistakes, puking at shows,
spending 4 fucking years to find the bridge between
erasing the smudge of the past and staying sixteen
but i doubt you’ll remember my face: the faded proof of my existence
i took a train to somewhere where I can find a key to the present tense
(cause the roads they offer us to walk on are not four us at all)
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