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the o [bklyn] - nauesa bluez كلمات الأغنية

last night i puked for my whole generation
paranoia sweeps the nation
maybe needs an operation
yellow, black, brown or caucasian
tastin’ the death, man, wastin’ yer breath
man, can you taste it? this time everybody must get wasted
kentucky fried or flame_broiled, wherever i go my dreams they get tin_foiled
takin’ heads out like gout when i hallucinate and my fate like a body gotti got
with the cement_shoe blues
but mine’s nausea, look so hard but i can’t see ya…
i’m screamin in, this seemin’ in, just screamin’ and day_dreamin’ nausea (?)
so i was walkin’ down the street the other day
not l.a, nj, but anyway
some big, fat, ugly punk kid was steppin’ up to me, and i had no weapon, see
oh no, here it goes again, exchangin’ blows again, a broken nose again
from tryin’ to make some ends of the boring time to pass
punks would rather not sit around, they’d rather kick ass
so i switched my brain into combat mode and got ready to smoke this toad
i said, it’s not my fault that you work the supermarket
not my fault that your best friend was a narc it’s
not my fault that you dropped outta high school
not my fault that you didn’t use a rubber (bye fool!)
not my fault that your salary sucked
not my fault your economically f_cked
it might be bush’s, it might be reagan’s, it might be clinton’s, it might be satan’s
all i know is that you wanna take it out on me
(aufhf wickty adifk kiyatk, g!) (?)
bam!
i smacked his ass dead in the head with a rock that i got from the ground
while he’s lookin around
at the nonsense i said he’s in confusion so i took a chance and now i be cruisin’
yeah when you’re druggy g, and you’re 5’3 and with no uzi then you must use the…
head only… now it’s my fault that you’re much more ugly
suburban, rich, poor or the city kids
everyone i meet seems motherf_ckin’ idiots
yeah so f_ck you motherf_ckin hippies, deadheads, skinheads, n_z_ pinheads
f_ck you jocks and ravers, goths and geeks
f_ck you all tomorrow , f_ck you all in weeks
f_ck you b_boys why don’t you take a chill?
f_ck you metal_heads, take yourselves and k!ll (word!)
f_ck you pseudo_punk alternative rockers makin’ money
you’re the same as all the rest cept’ your hair’s kinda funny
f_ck you indie_kids with your store_bought cool
f_ck you trendy fools and you corporate tools
f_ck you surf dudes always on quaaludes
“like, bad vibes, man!”
ad nauseam…
art f_gs, skate brats, mall rats, place mats
b_tches what betrayed me, at least i f_ckin’stayed free
but before the bile overrunneth my cup
tell me. motherf_ckers, shut the motherf_ck up!
shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up

- the o bklyn

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