Lyrics of 'Pink Tarantulas' by The Blood Brothers
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Pink Tarantulas is a song by The Blood Brothers whose lyrics have countless searches, so we decided it deserves its place on this website, along with many other song lyrics that internet users want to know.
We are the cock-eyed children left to babble in tarantula glue.
We are the shock-eyed children left to suckle straw in the soap opera zoo.
We are the engines pumping out children strangled by static from the noisy sun.
So won't you tell us what's brewing in your trenches?
Let us see what you've got hidden under the web.
Come on, come on, what's listening in those stretch marks?
Tell us, tell us, taxman, what you meant when you said...
Sleep, eat, own, fuck,
Abandoned like a bombed out conversation.
Phone, TV, sweets, suck,
I pledge allegiance to the small talk nation.
Wrapped, packed, soiled, stacked,
Gaping like a cracked open piñata
Counted, measured, copied, faxed,
Pink tarantula teeth in our pina coladas.
What's cooking in your stain? (come on taxman)
The sleepy clang of cash register fangs
What's cooking our sun? (come on taxman)
The addictive hum of bubble gum slums
Come on taxman!
This withered milk tree that you call love collapses like an empty glove..
Feed it! (yeah ) Suck it! (yeah) Own it! (yeah) Fuck it! (yeah)
And we know that sewing on another asshole wont make us shit more,
but who can resist a two-for-one at the pink tarantula store?
Pink tarantula! (Yeah!)
Pink tarantula! (Oh yeah!)
Pink tarantula!
1, 2, 3, go!
When you wake up in the morning the rising sun shines through its frosted veil.
We'll always lay together dreaming of other people under the poison hail.
You look so disgusting, all pink and puckered, covered with tarantula hair.
You look so disgusting I can feel the sight rotting off of my prowling stare.
And we know that TV fed us our first footsteps,
but the Ketamine is gonna teach us, teach us, teach us,
gonna teach us, teach us, teach us just how to crawl.
We are the cross-eyed children misled to yellow in tarantula webs.
Yeah we are the gawk-eyed children chained to rot in the designer fuck beds.
Sleep, eat, own, fuck,
Abandoned like a bombed out conversation.
Phone, TV, sweets, suck,
I pledge allegiance to the small talk nation.
Wrapped, packed, soiled, stacked,
Gaping like a cracked open piñata
Counted, measured, copied, faxed,
Pink tarantula teeth in our pina coladas
Pink tarantula! (Yeah!)
Pink tarantula! (Oh yeah!)
Pink tarantula!
1, 2, 3, go!
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