Paroles de Tic

The tic begins where's the manner end? The climate change will never get in Silent and strong and prepossessed You never need to make you own mess Weasel to me is charming to some Loathsome and glib Habits like self-love Wearing slim fast you carve your niche Lean smug back and work your pitch And all the way I'm gone, no Demon race to find You paint if up and know that Any face can lie Affect my greatest style, what Suits me best of all Keep my pocket filled, lean right and Fall