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Punks With Clean Kitchens
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Evan Greer
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with held hands and spray cans
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flashlights held in our teeth
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we built tunnels under their concrete
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and we once stole the floor right from under their feet
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they never saw it coming
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but after our laughter had given us away
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remember how we ran all through the day?
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and their shouts and batons were no match for our songs
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i bet the chief of police drank a stiff one that night
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and someday we should give back all the traffic cones that we stole
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and all the wrenches that we borrowed from your school
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but tonight we're both alone, so i'll call you on the phone
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and we'll drink together from 300 miles away
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don't forget to remind me of things that i just shouldn't say...
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give us a toast! give us a light!
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for every ghost and bump in the night
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for every story we should never tell
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give us a toast to the nights we gave em hell!
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the helicopter lights held us in their sights
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and the megaphone drone echoed in the night
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they lowered their guns we sat down and linked arms
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they told us not to move, two hearts beat "fuck you!"
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they said you can be killed if you won't be bought
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and with one hand in your's and one eye on the door
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i said, "captain, take your best shot!"
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well in retrospect that was not the best thing that could have said
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but i've never claimed to be diplomatic
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but it was our lucky day, and in the end we got away
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and we passed out that night curled up on the floor of your attic
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give us a toast! give us a light!
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for every ghost and bump in the night
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for every story we should never tell
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give us a toast to the nights we gave em hell!
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oh my friend things have been hard
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and our old weaknesses are tearing us apart
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something's been growing between me and you
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it's the difference between the things that we say and the ones that we do
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so here's to the days when that wasn't true and here's to the promise those days will come back soon...
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here's one for the wobblies and one for the elves
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one for our comrades locked up in their cells
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one for the kids out there hoppin' and hitchin'
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the raider's of dumpsters, the punks with clean kitchens
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to the mexican mother with a plan of attack
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a baby at her breast and a gun on her back
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here's to the day all the flags will be black
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and each one comes packaged with it's own match!
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here's to the nights when no one sleeps alone
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and you can't tell the difference between fire and stone
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for each little girl who just won't behave
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if you wanna be free then you gotta be brave
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if you ain't got no masters you can't be a slave!
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we're going somewhere at the edges of love
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we're through with the old world, we've had quite enough
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you best not be silent if you wanna come
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get your fist in the air and start singing along...
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ow pour me another, let's write the next song!
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when we're done think of all the empty bottles that we'll have
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i'm sure we'll put them to good use
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"หcause i hear sirens outside, so let's sing the chorus one last time
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and then my friends let's do what we've gotta do
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i think that we might have a date with the boys in blue...
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give us a toast! give us a light!
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for every ghost and bump in the night
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for every story we should never tell
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give us a toast to the nights we gave em hell!
"Punks With Clean Kitchens," - Evan Gree...
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