Portugal. The Man
Harvey Keitel Is The Man
(These lyrics need a lot of work)
Stewing in the
[miss outer hull they do?]
The clips all turn their heads about us
Down here
We're hiding
In this hollowed out basement so
Perfect for my hiding place
So what's the place that's fit to lay our heads?
And hide it
And hide it
So what's the place that's fit to lay our heads?
And hide it
And hide it
The bowel skins lined with poisons
Of your own decor
That's a hell that's the hell we've been waiting for
The bowel skins lined with poisons
Of your own decor
(of your own decor)
That's a hell that's the hell we've been waiting for
So what's the place that's fit to lay our heads?
And hide it
And hide it
So what's the place that's fit to lay our heads?
And hide it
And hide it
So what's the place that's fit to lay our heads?
And hide it
And hide it
So what's the place that's fit to lay our heads?
And hide it
And hide it
H-h-h-h-h-hide it
H-h-h-h-h-hide it
H-h-h-h-h-hide it
H-h-h-h-h-hide it