When he stumbled to his wares
And he stumbled to his wares
At last a penny laugh who awoke
In the fourth course of the night
When he stumbled to his wares
He said, "I'll sell you in the morning"
And now the night night night night sails in the morning
With his quotas and it's bales
He called his sister, he called his brother
He skipped his father, he scorned his mother
He was what the poor called mean
You don't die, die, die, die, you don't sing
You don't eulogize your pains
Though there's a colony in sorrow, oh oh oh oh
And though, though he had lot, lot, lot, lots to do
He pulled a fly of it's little wing
Oh to give the birch, birch, birch, birch back it's spring
Woah, woah, woah, woah
And though, and though he had lots, lot, lots to do
He pulled a fly off of it's little wing
Oh to give the birch, birch, birch, birch back his spring
Oh with his collared whip, with the echoing
With the haunted haunted hundred dollar ship
in the holocade, when they altercate in the motorcade with the shield you shade
Oh dear I'm proud of your gains
Now with the collared whip, with the vehicle, when you know you know you know you're full of shit
For the love, for the lives, for the black hood it pays you
I'll think off on your gains, Oh oh oh
And though, though he had lot, lot, lot, lots to do
He pulled a fly of it's little wing
Oh to give the birch, birch, birch, birch back it's spring
Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah
And though, though he had lot, lot, lot, lots to do
He pulled a fly of it's little wing
Oh to give the birch, birch, birch, birch back it's spring
Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah
He pulled a fly of it's little wing
Oh to give the birch, birch, birch back it's spring
He pulled a fly of it's little wing
Oh to give the birch, birch, birch back it's spring
He pulled a fly of it's little wing
Oh to give the birch, birch, birch back it's spring, oh
Oh wait, it's got got, got to last
But the wheat, wheat, wheat's got, got, got to last
But the wheat, wheat's got, got, got, got to last
Oh London, you're cold, but the wheat's got, got, got to last
Oh London, you're cold, but the wheat's got, got, got to last
Oh London, you're cold, but the wheat's got, got, got to last
London, you're cold, but the wheat's got, got, got to last
When am I going to feel the sting of your sun?
When am I going to fear the sting of your sun?
And when am I going to feel the sting of your sun?
Oh, I was a singer, I sang on your home
Your home, your home, your home, your home
Your home, your home, your home, your home
I was a singer
I was a singer, woah
I was a singer
I was a singer, woah
I was a singer, woah
I was a singer, woah
I was a singer, woah
I was a singer, woah
I was a singer
Bushels Lyrics performed by Frog Eyes are property and copyright of the authors, artists and labels. You should note that Bushels Lyrics performed by Frog Eyes is only provided for educational purposes only and if you like the song you should buy the CD