me that kiss Cause you don?t want to sleep tonight Your one night love gone get swept off ya feet Yeah lets get undressed from your breast to ya feet (breast to ya feet
leave the house, it's true I keep a wrap on my sores and joints But yes, I've had my blessings too I've got my mother's pretty feet And the factory
me on the dance floor I'll make your body want more I just wanna feel the heat, make you move your feet Make ya dance 'til your back is sore Meet me
gold Crash land, resist, re-define a dire need Crash land, in this unassuming reality When all the bodies fall will they shun the light And dust their feet
go home Living bad to the bone Red lights in Hamburg and whores on the street Places like Amsterdam it seemed more discreet I walked around the city squares till my feet were sore
't control Trespassing lands where they don't belong All I hear is screaming whee, there once were songs I got my brothers there fighting those wars Fighting over scraps and scraping their sores
[ Play ] This song goes out to my boy J-Dubs whos keepin it real over in Bradford Pa It's the P-l-a-y, just here to say hi Askin you may I, tell you '
the hay After workin' hard all day. Another job well done, Another battle won. Leading the crusade For love, love, love. My feet are awfully sore. My
moon Guitar, a squeeze box, a fiddle, a bow Little band playin' every song they know Old woman sittin' there and yellin' for more My heart is willin', but my feet, they're so sore
brand new California Uptight Band playin' a song about a wood flower man [ ac.guitar - banjo - dobro - fiddle ] Now it's a brand new California Uptight Band playin' a song
Make all kinds of money boy when I go on the stage They see me in the paper and in the magazines If I go cold my feet get sore put me in the back of
25 cops rush the spot Now I got one-time on my jock Stash my shank underneath the seat And make sure no blood is on my feet Punk police wanna take me
't control Trespassing lands where they don't belong, all I hear is screaming where there once were songs I got my brothers there fighting those wars, fighting over scraps ans scraping their sores
chance Of being liked- do we care- I wouldn't lie to my fams So, while the wicked sing songs that got them in a trance We sing songs and hymns like the
that really sincerely love me I'm a real thug strong and weak, the rich was in the poor But you gotta get on your feet even if they blistered up and sore
've seen We're at the end of our rope without a second chance to leave a few more feet, enough to wrap around tour necks . We'd hang our bodies from