2 acessos
G#m F# E Mean Mr. Mustard says he's bored of life in the district G#m F# E Can't afford the French Quarter High, says it gets old real quick G#m F# E And he pales up next to me, scrawled on the pavement G#m F# E He says son, time is all the luck you need B B But if I stay lucky then my tongue 'll stay tied G#m F# E And I won't betray the things that I hide B B There's not enough years underneath this build G#m F# E For me to admit the way that I felt G#m F# E Mean Mr. Mustard says don't be the wave that crashes G#m F# E From a sea of discontent, he says he's wrestled with that blanket G#m F# E It leaves you cold and wet, anyway you stretch it G#m F# E Divine apathy, the disease of my youth, watch that you don't catch it F# E Down the wave that crashes, from F# E A sea that turns itself F# E Inside out every chance I get F# E See what it's like in hell, yeah yeah