Видео

Massive Attack - Atlas Air
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Создатели

ИСПОЛНИТЕЛИ
Robert Del Naja
Robert Del Naja
Вокал
Neil Davidge
Neil Davidge
Клавишные инструменты
Billy Fuller
Billy Fuller
Бас
Tim Goldsworthy
Tim Goldsworthy
Клавишные инструменты
Euan Dickinson
Euan Dickinson
Программирование
John Baggott
John Baggott
Клавишные инструменты
МУЗЫКА И СЛОВА
Neil Davidge
Neil Davidge
Автор песен
John Baggott
John Baggott
Автор песен
Grantley Marshall
Grantley Marshall
Автор песен
Robert Del Naja
Robert Del Naja
Автор песен
ПРОДЮСЕРЫ И ЗВУКОРЕЖИССЕРЫ
Robert Del Naja
Robert Del Naja
Продюсер
Neil Davidge
Neil Davidge
Продюсер
Tim Goldsworthy
Tim Goldsworthy
Дополнительный продюсер
Euan Dickinson
Euan Dickinson
Инженер звукозаписи
Eric Broucek
Eric Broucek
Инженер звукозаписи
Mark "Spike" Stent
Mark "Spike" Stent
Миксинг-инженер
Matty Green
Matty Green
Ассистент миксинг-инженера
Tim Young
Tim Young
Мастеринг-инженер

Слова

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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