CORRECTAR LA LETRA
Letra : Suburbia Overture: Greetings from Mary Bell Township! / (Vampire) Culture / Love Me, Normally
White picket fences. Barbed wire and trenches
Trick or treat. Merry Christmas. Howdy neighbor. Thank you Jesus
What is he building in that painted lady?
A participation trophy wife or blonde, blue-eyed baby?
Wide-eyed and wired. The snap-crackle-pop of the Geiger
Camouflage billboards for lead-lined Brooks Brothers. You elbow the jukebox and sing “Duck and Cover,”
And breed out our incisors, feed on white wine and Pfizer
It don’t look like survival, b-but buy now or die
Suburbia. You’re not alone. The lights are on. But no one’s home. So, welcome home
Meyers-Briggs, OK-ULTRA, takes a village to fake a whole culture
Your ear to the playground, your eye on the ball, your head in the gutter, your brains on the well
Home is where the heart is. You ain’t homeless, but you’re heartless
It’s the safest on the market, but you still gotta watch where you park it
So give me your half-life crisis. I can tell you know where paradise is
Where parasites don’t care what your blood type is. Only pheromones and serotonin decide
If its true that a snowflake only matters in a blizzard
Everyone knows that nobody’s knows that everybody’s all up in my everybody’s all up in my everybody’s all up in my business
Suburbia. Where you belong. The lights are on. But no one’s home. So, welcome home
Ch-ch-chameleon peac*cks are talk of the town. Well word gets around on hit number stations. He c*ms radiation
The dog bites the postman while basement eyes dream. Of a night at the drive-in with an AR-15
I dropped my eyeballs on the bonfire, we f**ked on a bed of nails
Then I caught Kuru from your sister and died laughing in jail
Smell those screaming teenage sweetbreads on the 4th of July grill
Smile and wave, boys. Kiss the cook. Live laugh and love. Please pass the pills
It’s only culture. It’s only culture. It’s only cult – sulfur, smoke, and soot
You learned to torture house cats. Like vultures
You c*cked and sucked your lack of empathy, pulled the trigger with your foot to prove you’ve got-
Blood. Didn’t they want your blood? Then why apologize for being blue and cold?
Blood. Didn’t they want your blood? So don’t apologize when you turn blue and cold
It’s only culture. It’s only culture. It’s only. Culture’s not your friend
Hey, f**k your culture. I ain’t got no culture
It’s only culture
And its more afraid of you than you are of it. Go on, drink that-
Blood. Didn’t they want your blood? Then why apologize for being blue and cold?
Blood. Didn’t they want your blood? So don’t apologize when you turn blue and cold
Were you Nabokov to a Salinger? Jung to Freud or Das to a Leary? Mother, daughter, subject, and author
You don’t make the rules, you just write them down and do it by the book you throw around
Do you know the difference between blazing trails and slash-and-burn?
Going against the grain and catching splinters?
You pull out your Rorschach like a paint-by-numbers treasure map
The ink upon on your jigsaw piece traces you back to your fingerprints
Well Lot he had his lot in life, Job his job and I guess you’ll too, and die
The Lord looked down, said, “hey, you’re only mortal.”
Giveth and taketh away ‘till things come out a certain way
Leave you wondering when they might go back to normal
Leave you wondering why they can’t have just been normal
Trick or treat. Merry Christmas. Howdy neighbor. Thank you Jesus
What is he building in that painted lady?
A participation trophy wife or blonde, blue-eyed baby?
Wide-eyed and wired. The snap-crackle-pop of the Geiger
Camouflage billboards for lead-lined Brooks Brothers. You elbow the jukebox and sing “Duck and Cover,”
And breed out our incisors, feed on white wine and Pfizer
It don’t look like survival, b-but buy now or die
Suburbia. You’re not alone. The lights are on. But no one’s home. So, welcome home
Meyers-Briggs, OK-ULTRA, takes a village to fake a whole culture
Your ear to the playground, your eye on the ball, your head in the gutter, your brains on the well
Home is where the heart is. You ain’t homeless, but you’re heartless
It’s the safest on the market, but you still gotta watch where you park it
So give me your half-life crisis. I can tell you know where paradise is
Where parasites don’t care what your blood type is. Only pheromones and serotonin decide
If its true that a snowflake only matters in a blizzard
Everyone knows that nobody’s knows that everybody’s all up in my everybody’s all up in my everybody’s all up in my business
Suburbia. Where you belong. The lights are on. But no one’s home. So, welcome home
Ch-ch-chameleon peac*cks are talk of the town. Well word gets around on hit number stations. He c*ms radiation
The dog bites the postman while basement eyes dream. Of a night at the drive-in with an AR-15
I dropped my eyeballs on the bonfire, we f**ked on a bed of nails
Then I caught Kuru from your sister and died laughing in jail
Smell those screaming teenage sweetbreads on the 4th of July grill
Smile and wave, boys. Kiss the cook. Live laugh and love. Please pass the pills
It’s only culture. It’s only culture. It’s only cult – sulfur, smoke, and soot
You learned to torture house cats. Like vultures
You c*cked and sucked your lack of empathy, pulled the trigger with your foot to prove you’ve got-
Blood. Didn’t they want your blood? Then why apologize for being blue and cold?
Blood. Didn’t they want your blood? So don’t apologize when you turn blue and cold
It’s only culture. It’s only culture. It’s only. Culture’s not your friend
Hey, f**k your culture. I ain’t got no culture
It’s only culture
And its more afraid of you than you are of it. Go on, drink that-
Blood. Didn’t they want your blood? Then why apologize for being blue and cold?
Blood. Didn’t they want your blood? So don’t apologize when you turn blue and cold
Were you Nabokov to a Salinger? Jung to Freud or Das to a Leary? Mother, daughter, subject, and author
You don’t make the rules, you just write them down and do it by the book you throw around
Do you know the difference between blazing trails and slash-and-burn?
Going against the grain and catching splinters?
You pull out your Rorschach like a paint-by-numbers treasure map
The ink upon on your jigsaw piece traces you back to your fingerprints
Well Lot he had his lot in life, Job his job and I guess you’ll too, and die
The Lord looked down, said, “hey, you’re only mortal.”
Giveth and taketh away ‘till things come out a certain way
Leave you wondering when they might go back to normal
Leave you wondering why they can’t have just been normal
