Hudební video

Massive Attack - Atlas Air
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Kredity

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Robert Del Naja
Robert Del Naja
Vocals
Neil Davidge
Neil Davidge
Keyboards
Billy Fuller
Billy Fuller
Bass
Tim Goldsworthy
Tim Goldsworthy
Keyboards
Euan Dickinson
Euan Dickinson
Programming
John Baggott
John Baggott
Keyboards
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Neil Davidge
Neil Davidge
Songwriter
John Baggott
John Baggott
Songwriter
Grantley Marshall
Grantley Marshall
Songwriter
Robert Del Naja
Robert Del Naja
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Robert Del Naja
Robert Del Naja
Producer
Neil Davidge
Neil Davidge
Producer
Tim Goldsworthy
Tim Goldsworthy
Additional Producer
Euan Dickinson
Euan Dickinson
Recording Engineer
Eric Broucek
Eric Broucek
Recording Engineer
Mark "Spike" Stent
Mark "Spike" Stent
Mixing Engineer
Matty Green
Matty Green
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Tim Young
Tim Young
Mastering Engineer

Texty

Yes, shall we take a spin again in business? This time is fixed, let's sweeten our facilities It took all the man in me To be the dog you wanted me to be Shall we take a spin again, no witnesses? This time is fixed, 7-3-7 is You won't feel a thing Begging until you give it up, insane Fish like little silver knives Make the cuts on my inside Yeah, let him feast, my heart is big, my heart is big My blood will slide in metal studs Tourniquet will hold its groove Tourniquet will keep its grip It took all the man in me To be the dog you wanted me to be Yeah, let him feast, my heart is big My heart is big, my blood will slide Yeah, let him feast, my heart is big My heart is big, my blood will slide Got not to lose, but my chains Internet feats on my brains Head in the sand, feet in the clay And time is still like grease it slips Sucking in, spitting pips Yeah, spitting pips Not to lose, but my chains Internet beats on my brains Head in the sand, feet in the clay A place to piss, a place to pray A little money should tell me of my faith This gun of smoke is slaying me And time is still like grease it slips Sucking in, spitting pips Yeah, spitting pips My heart was big and like my pride Let 'em feast on my insides And when the field had spilled its guts Gently open and then it shuts I'm in the hole three thousand days A buried soul They live the dream in terminal No war too mean I know the drill, got cells to burn I'm dressed to kill A mortal coil, and time is still On secret soil Yeah, pay the bills, cells to burn Mouths to fill On Boeing jets In the sunset, make glowing threats
Writer(s): Robert Del Naja, Grantley Evan Marshall, Neil Davidge, John Malvern Baggott Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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