Tekst:
They Might Be Giants John Henry

on the curb By the empty parking lot Of the store where they let me play the organ I'm waiting for my ride But I want to wait inside Of the store where they

Here comes the dirt bike Beware of the dirt bike Because I hear they're coming to our town They've got plans for everyone And now I hear they're over

Don't bother to call this room There's nobody here who can pick up Or has stuff they need to talk about And who won't be now Checking out and flying

was junk He lived with his mother and the torments of Christ The world was transformed A crowd gathered round Pressed against his window so they could be

old One thousand years old Sure, I'd say that's old One thousand years old But what do I know? In your darkest hour, my indolent friends We'll be one

I have drowned We'll be sleeping in the flowers Tell my boss that I've been fired We'll be sleeping in the flowers Tell my boss that I've been fired We'll be

through the ground If you want to be a spy Then you must really see And you must really see If you want to be a spy like me Come on I might gaze on

There's a girl with a crown and a scepter Who's on WLSD And she says that the scene isn't what it's been And she's thinking of going home That it's old

When the indicator says you're out of oil should you continue driving anyway? There's a thermostat that regulates the temperature That might not be reliable That should be