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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 shit 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