Bush
"History"


Gave my love to 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 our father 
Edge of my bed 
Benzedrine telephone 
Struggling to speak 
Sicker than sickest dog 
Falling faster than a liar's grin 
We need to be saved from the shit we're in 
I believe in you I have found 
The perfect way 
To bring me down 
I won't be saved 
By all your yesterdays 
Piss on my grave 
Piss on the underlay 
History moans 
Mouth of our father