Fame Throwa

All the things we had before
You sold us out and took it all
Head-borne cries from zenith sluts
Astral rites from dead-end ruts
These ends are sick-end wars
These ends was sick-end wars
It's one of our nation's spies
It's one of our first recruits
I click with her leather thighs
It's one of our first recruits
How can you know
In the distance lies a grower
Nee roudolph king of fame throwa
Son of groupie, red-worn sexan
Spent his cash convincing us
That the desert was a starscape
And took our lives for a
Satellite so we could cry
Naked, naked foul
It's one of our nation's spies
It's one of our first recruits
I click with her leather thighs
It's one of our first recruits