Gilla Band — Texting an Alien

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Текст Gilla Band — Texting an Alien

At the minute
At the minute I’m throwing biscuits down
O’ Connell street, it’s pointless and i don’t why
I’m doing to be honest

At the minute she’s
At the minute
She’s suggesting texting an alien
With custard on her hand with fastest tongue in Ireland

At the minute
At the minute in just wearing Lyinx Africa and talking about putting crisps in pasta dishes

At the minute she’s
At the minute she’s putting the jackets on the coated tablets and listening to the new jet sounds or something

Oh sex pesto… It was all she knows from the tip of her tongue to the tip of her toes

You big weirdo licking flat coke from the horny nettles of Barcode

Out of it
Out of it
I look at them and I’m out of it

Yeah I look at your photos to piss me off from time to time
I wish I had a cap gun for every time you said that one
Got sent to the office for whistling
What would it be like if everyone was whistling going around everywhere
What would you do?

Take a photo
Of Quazimoto
I look like him and I’m out of it

Out of it
Out of it
I look at him and I’m out of it

She races her slugs to their salt lines but you don’t mind do you? Do you? Sometimes I wanna watch