History

History - Bush

Gave my love 2 thousand yesterdays

Nothing is wrong I am always a little late

Probably will probably won't

Get this disease cut out of my throat

All of a sudden you come my way baby believer

I won't be saved by morning after

Struggling my name slave turned to master

History moans

Mouth of our father

History moans

Mouth of my father

Mouth of my father

Edge of my bed Benzedrine telephone

Struggling to speak I'm sicker

Than the sickest dog

Falling faster liar's grin

We need to be saved from the sh*t we're in

I believe in you I have found

The perfect way to bring me down

And I won't be saved by all your yesterdays

So piss on my grave piss on the underlay

History moans

Mouth of our father

History moans

Mouth of our father

Mouth of our father

Mouth of our father

Mouth of my father

Mouth of my father

Mouth of my father

History moans

History moans

History moans

History moans

Mouth of our father

Mouth of our father

Mouth of our father