Painkiller The Pigeon - This John's A Journalist

"Can't you stay quiet, keep those pen scratchings to yourself?
We're trying to sleep up here, and you're murmuring loud as hell
As loud as hell, as loud as hell"

"Oh mother, you don't understand, I think I'm part of some elaborate plot
A strange shape's trying to convince me to do just what it wants
Just what it wants, just what it wants

But this John's a journalist with a bottle in his grip"
(What a strange document)

"Can't you keep those bones from knocking in your closet, I'm trying to sleep
I know you're not feeling well, but they're trembling hard as hell
As hard as hell, as hard as hell"

"Oh mother, you don't understand, I've got to rattle them out of here
I'll give 'em this hollow little squint until they disappear

'Cause this John's an exorcist with a bottle for a crucifix"
(What a strange relapse)

"You can pretend that pen's a wishing well
But whatever hell you've seen is written in-between your cells"
"'Cause this John's a journalist..."

"Why don't you publish your ramblings if you think you've got something figured out?"
"Oh mother, you don't understand, lunatics get famous and I'd rather stay drunk in here
That should be pretty clear

'Cause this John's a realist with a grip on business sense"
(What a strange defense)

Written by:
Devon Bryant

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

Lyrics powered by Lyric Find