在手机上保存，获得更好体验
Fantastic Pace - Portugal. The Man
He was born in the first grade
Hungry little lion
Swallowed all he saw
Still he's barely alive
He was a colorful person
Born of some colorful people
Opened up his mouth
Poured some colorful speeches
His home was a tar paper palette
Tyvek green house
Pumped into the culdesac
Gravel housing his house
Living like the drinks are rivers wells creeks oceans bays
Every year we get a little older found in his ways
I hope he never grows grows into nothing
I hope he never grows grows into nothing
He's not so well behaved
What are we to do
Get him to the digging
Stick him over in the corner
Got a little place out in the crystal fires
No one wants you no one wants you no one wants you
What are we to do
No one wants you no one wants you no one wants you
What are we to do
No one wants you no one wants you no one wants you
What are we to do
No one wants you no one wants you no one wants you
What are we to do
What are we to do
What are we to do
Starving empty stares pushed it down in the parking lots
The valley lake cars and the riverbed hang out a long way
From the little lion in black full body snowsuits snowshoe
Goosebay and neighbors claims on empty lots
Where guns and gold were goals given up given
His pace below all the giants growing up at a fantastic pace
Fantastic pace
Fantastic pace
Fantastic pace
