Music Video

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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Longpigs
Longpigs
Performer
Crispin Hunt
Crispin Hunt
Vocals
Richard Hawley
Richard Hawley
Electric Guitar
Simon Stafford
Simon Stafford
Bass Guitar
Andy Cook
Andy Cook
Drums
Colin Elliot
Colin Elliot
Percussion
Elizabeth Hanks
Elizabeth Hanks
Cello
Lorna Bannon
Lorna Bannon
Background Vocals
Sara J. Novak
Sara J. Novak
Background Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Crispin Hunt
Crispin Hunt
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Jonathan Hugh Quarmby
Jonathan Hugh Quarmby
Producer
Kevin Bacon
Kevin Bacon
Producer

Lyrics

To lick your wounds and crack through the morphine's sweet darkness, Bloodies your eyes and fouls your kiss it's you I can't forget, I ain't cost you yet.I ain't lost you yet. Jumped away from the lens, ground to a point love's blind pretence, Burst all those syphilltic cysts that rot the love of God, Stood where Moses trod, the lucky sod, you yet, I ain't caught it yet, you cast your clever net, But I ain't caught it yet. How can I forget? How can I forget? You cast your clever net but I ain't caught it yet. Gangsters don't cry, when they shoot you to die, So keep the whites of their eyes in your sights. Im Staring buck naked at the world, no fig leaf needed, pure as gold, Burst all this complicated bliss that rots the love of God Stood where Moses trod the lucky sod. And fizz the first touch of your tongue, flinched like the grip of moist uncle, Sniff sweet cocaine and disco sick, cos I can drink to this, every shot of bliss, Aw shucks. Aw shucks hits, I ain't caught it yet, You cast that clever net, but I ain't caught it yet. How can I forget? How can I forget? You cast your clever net but I ain't caught it yet. Aw shucks, Aw shucks. Gangsters don't cry, When they shoot you to die, so keep the whites of their eyes in your sights. Lying in the sun like a fat dog with you is worth cancer. The few pleasures, how white my clean ass could be, There is not yet a neat Media label to describe you and me and this age. Well fuck them. And on the streets there's an advert real people pickled to the bone by the vultures of culture, Golf, hold on to yourself, So hang on, Hang on to yourself, Come on, come on, come on. Make it feel like stealers tongue, a real flesh eater. Fortune smiles on the the whites of the teeth, So bite me bite me bite me as aniseed candy. And in the parks they skate to flow it all out, It's all out, they're all out, they're all out I'm so glad they're all out.
Writer(s): Simon Stafford, Crispin Macmichael Hunt Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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