When the feeling comes it always leaves,
to the top of the hill,
the hill of thieves.
Brush that curious out.
Hurry away.
You`ve got the hole in your head to feel the breeze.
If you`re gonna ride, baby,
ride athe wild horse.
Iwe can`t drink no more,
but I`llwe`ll try.
You can`t find us, baby,
in the basement.
And itI slug your in your fucking head.