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Listen to Electriclarryland by Butthole Surfers
ALBUMElectriclarrylandButthole Surfers
Listen to ’90s Hard Rock Essentials featuring Butthole Surfers
PLAYLIST’90s Hard Rock EssentialsApple Music Hard Rock
Listen to On a Deadline featuring Butthole Surfers
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Listen to Alternative Hits: 1996 featuring Butthole Surfers
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Listen to Rock Hits: 1996 featuring Butthole Surfers
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Listen to Alex Winter’s Most Excellent Bill & Ted Inspirations Playlist featuring Butthole Surfers
PLAYLISTAlex Winter’s Most Excellent Bill & Ted Inspirations PlaylistApple Music Film, TV & Stage
Listen to Butthole Surfers Essentials featuring Butthole Surfers
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Listen to Inspired by MC5 featuring Butthole Surfers
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Listen to Austin Travel Vibes featuring Butthole Surfers
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Listen to Austin FC featuring Butthole Surfers
PLAYLISTAustin FCApple Music

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Butthole Surfers
Butthole Surfers
Performer
Bill Carter
Bill Carter
Bass Guitar
John Hagen
John Hagen
Cello
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Stuart Sullivan
Stuart Sullivan
Recording Engineer
Paul Leary
Paul Leary
Producer

Lyrics

She played for the Angels I played for the tribe The summer had been stolen and the bases were all loaded There was big money on the line Big my all the time yeah There was big money on the line I can't walk so I guess I'm gonna stay at home They can have my legs just leave my head alone I was in the kitchen The year was in the fall A friend of mine had told me that there were no point in mopin' No there were no point at all There was big fire in the hall, yeah There weren't no points at all I can't walk so I guess I'm gonna stay at home They can have my legs just leave my head alone And I can't talk so I guess I got nothin' to say I'll keep my eyes just take these tears away Lock, stock, and barrel all the dogs were gone to feral and the car ran like a broken perculator His liver had gone hard and he wouldn't mow the yard There was big money on the line And I heard that his brother was a viking He liked to solve a problem with a gun If you want to know the facts you gotta teach him how to act And I hate cough syrup don't you I'd rather be a sailor than a fighter I'd like to sail a ship into the sun If you wanna know the truth you gotta dig up Johnny Booth And I hate cough syrup don't you I know that your mother is a martyr I heard she's got connections with the mob If you wanna learn the fight you gotta drink up all the light And I hate cough syrup don't you I'd rather be a matchstick than a lighter I like to see the wood curl up and burn If you wanna touch the sky you must be prepared to die And I hate cough syrup don't you I hate cough syrup and I hate the food in Europe And I hate cough syrup it's true You wanna know the truth you gotta dig up Johnny Booth And I hate cough syrup don't you I hate cough syrup it's true
Writer(s): Gibson Haynes, Jeffrey Coffey, Paul Walthall, Jeffrey Pinkus Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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