Curses on Purses Songtext
von Tin Cup Prophette

Dust off the old paperback
Pick out the finest detail
Her hair
Her hands
The way she understands
Her power


Pixie faced and white clothed hands
A parasol to shade her
Corset bound and never a frown
The way man created

Oh no! a revolution

Born again, as ten thousand men
And I′m falling behind
Feel the weight
Of modern hate
With each tiny step

Oh no! a revolution

Curses on purses of featherweight
There's something on you I should hate


Oh no! a revolution