Million Things Songtext
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We're nothing special
Identical imbeciles
Call around on a Sunday and cop a feel
We're all clones
Bullshit down the phone
Wanna join my cult and keep my pocket full
What's in your head?
I think it's your big bang theory
What's in your head?
Identical imbeciles
Call around on a Sunday and cop a feel
We're all clones
Bullshit down the phone
Wanna join my cult and keep my pocket full
What's in your head?
I think it's your big bang theory
What's in your head?
I think it's your big bang theory
Don't ask me now
I'm still far too young to follow you
Don't ask me now
I've still got a million things to do
Don't ask me now
I'm still far too young to follow you
Don't ask me now
I've still got a million things to do
Fireside security
Legoland family
Six feet safely from my crimes
Teenage turbulence
Trash can tragedies
The weeping of a willow under sky
What's in your head?
I think it's your big bang theory What's in your head?
I think it's your big bang theory
Don't ask me now
I'm still far too young to follow you
Don't ask me now
I've still got a million things to do
Don't ask me now
I'm still far too young to follow you
Don't ask me now
I've still got a million things
We are marching like pigs, to the market of flesh
With humps on our backs and hair on the palms of our hands
Marching like pigs, to the market of flesh
With humps on our backs and hair on the palms of our hands
Don't ask me now
I'm still far too young to follow you
Don't ask me now
I've still got a million things to do
Don't ask me now
I'm still far too young to follow you
Don't ask me now
I've still got a million things to do
Fireside security
Legoland family
Six feet safely from my crimes
Teenage turbulence
Trash can tragedies
The weeping of a willow under sky
What's in your head?
I think it's your big bang theory What's in your head?
I think it's your big bang theory
Don't ask me now
I'm still far too young to follow you
Don't ask me now
I've still got a million things to do
Don't ask me now
I'm still far too young to follow you
Don't ask me now
I've still got a million things
We are marching like pigs, to the market of flesh
With humps on our backs and hair on the palms of our hands
Marching like pigs, to the market of flesh
With humps on our backs and hair on the palms of our hands
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