working class musicians Songtext
von aja monet
working class musicians Songtext
Working
Working
Working
Working
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class
Working class
Working class
Working class
Though it be a labor of love
A labor it is
Working the night shift
Mills of music venues, clubs and bars
Farmers of feelings
Trumpet trigger fingers
Grappling brass valves
Prodding, pressing
Deafened by the rattling roar in a head
Toiled by a tired heart
Resting between the swinging rounds of rhythms
Bless the drummer′s hands
Trolley a kit on the subway in the snow
The keys player's fingers homesick for cityscapes
Maraca wrists
Clap stack
Duct taped instruments
The message as the medium
Everything is practice for stopping bullets
Blossoming heartbeats
Freedom music
While the republicoons and the democrazies
Argue the complexion of money
We float between classes and corners
From caviar to canned beans
E minor is a relative of G major
They family
In soundcheck we split the difference
Just a tad of reverb
EQ the wedge
Living upright in the basement
A backwards world
Music that wrinkles time
Reporting live from the poet′s eye
Hand me down sounds
Found by an ear to the underground
Shedding off the cuff poems on napkins
Using hotel pens
A language in my mouth
Juggling rotten wisdom teeth
Fluorescent folks singing the scab of running scales
A sore throat at the merch table
Selling seashells that carry the sound
Of slave ships docked by the seashore
When your address is your suitcase
The only religion is the show must go on
I want my bread and my roses too
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class musician
The rent's too damn high
The rent's too damn high
The rent′s too damn high
The rent′s too damn high
The food's too damn high
The gas too damn high
The school′s too damn high
The clothes too damn high
The phone bill's too damn high
The lights too damn high
Living from gig to gig
From gig to gig
From gig to gig
Playing to live
Living from gig to gig
From gig to gig
From gig to gig
Playing to live
Living from gig to gig
From gig to gig
From gig to gig
Playing to live
Living from gig to gig
From gig to gig
From gig to gig
Working
Working
Working
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class
Working class
Working class
Working class
Though it be a labor of love
A labor it is
Working the night shift
Mills of music venues, clubs and bars
Farmers of feelings
Trumpet trigger fingers
Grappling brass valves
Prodding, pressing
Deafened by the rattling roar in a head
Toiled by a tired heart
Resting between the swinging rounds of rhythms
Bless the drummer′s hands
Trolley a kit on the subway in the snow
The keys player's fingers homesick for cityscapes
Maraca wrists
Clap stack
Duct taped instruments
The message as the medium
Everything is practice for stopping bullets
Blossoming heartbeats
Freedom music
While the republicoons and the democrazies
Argue the complexion of money
We float between classes and corners
From caviar to canned beans
E minor is a relative of G major
They family
In soundcheck we split the difference
Just a tad of reverb
EQ the wedge
Living upright in the basement
A backwards world
Music that wrinkles time
Reporting live from the poet′s eye
Hand me down sounds
Found by an ear to the underground
Shedding off the cuff poems on napkins
Using hotel pens
A language in my mouth
Juggling rotten wisdom teeth
Fluorescent folks singing the scab of running scales
A sore throat at the merch table
Selling seashells that carry the sound
Of slave ships docked by the seashore
When your address is your suitcase
The only religion is the show must go on
I want my bread and my roses too
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class musician
Working class musician
The rent's too damn high
The rent's too damn high
The rent′s too damn high
The rent′s too damn high
The food's too damn high
The gas too damn high
The school′s too damn high
The clothes too damn high
The phone bill's too damn high
The lights too damn high
Living from gig to gig
From gig to gig
From gig to gig
Playing to live
Living from gig to gig
From gig to gig
From gig to gig
Playing to live
Living from gig to gig
From gig to gig
From gig to gig
Playing to live
Living from gig to gig
From gig to gig
From gig to gig
Writer(s): Aja Monet, Justin Brown Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

