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Song:Tundra/Desert
Album:Interstate 8Genres:Alternative Rock Indie
Year:1996 Length:323 sec

Lyricist: Modest Mouse

Lyrics:

Every sick, fickle fucker
Childhood is what makes you, oh
Till they treat you like tundra
Weigh those opinions more like air than lead

Every planned occupation
Surefire disappointment up ahead
Till they treat you like desert
See mirages of friendship, face turns red

Aw shit

(I don't feel and that feels fine, save twenty dollars and you should rest fine, I don't mind)
Here's the soon to be anchor
Build bridges to nothing, you'll get nowhere
(I don't feel and that feels fine, I don't feel and that feels fine)
Every governor's mother
Knows that their bread is buttered by Sam
(Crook takes, crook takes green out of wallet)
And what about science?
They find the proof and let you make your own decisions
(There are answers to our reasons worthwhile to find)

Every child star wonders
If they have a future up ahead
(King takes Queen, takes Queen out of the Game, it's alright, it's alright)
Every kindhearted banker
I don't think there is one
(I take you out)
Every winning opinion
I wish I had one
(I took you out for a night on the town, I took my wallet out, nothing was there)
Every winning opinion
I wish I had one

(You don't mind, well what if that's just bullshit?)
There's lifeforms in water
Put them aside and you'll get nowhere
(You're balancing balls on your nose alright, I don't mind I don't mind if it's so
Sometimes you want your own space and that's alright, right?
Right)

(Get too creative ordering our drinks and mine stinks, mine stinks
Get too creative ordering our drinks and yours stinks, yours stinks, yours stinks
Don't get too creative, don't get too creative)




 

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