Shouting

All my friends are drunk
Living in the future
All my friends are punks
Who never heard The Clash
All my friends are vain
But scared of their reflection
Aiming for the wall
Never feel the crash

It's ours to win
We'll keep throwing punches 'til the walls cave in

Thieves in the temple
Eve and the apple
Everybody's twisted, baby, trying to fit
Head full of judges
Mouth full of luggage
We whisper, baby, we should be shouting
Whoa-oh-oh, shouting
Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-whoa-oh

All my friends are straight
But play at being crooked
All my friends are rich
But always strapped for cash
All my friends are sad
But wanna live forever
Back against the wall
Face against the glass

It's ours to win
We'll keep throwing punches 'til the walls cave in

Thieves in the temple
Eve and the apple
Everybody's twisted, baby, trying to fit
Head full of luggage and
A mouth full of judges
We whisper, baby, we should be shouting
Whoa-oh-oh, shouting
Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-whoa-oh
Whoa-oh-oh, shouting
Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-whoa-oh

Everybody's twisted, baby, trying to fit
Everybody's twisted, baby, trying to fit
Everybody's twisted, baby, trying to fit
Everybody's twisted, baby, trying to fit



Credits
Writer(s): Matt Nathanson, Amir Jerome Salem
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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