(What, are you dying on there?)
You make me weap
Trying so hard to be a guitargod Terrible waste of time
You're playing fast, but there ain't no heart
We can't read no notes
We can't sing in tune
We never knew a chord
Still we're praising the Lord
In the air tonight
An awful noise from Miles and the boys. I can't stand that sound
It keeps me running around 'n around
Junk jazz, up your ass
Junk jazz, such a menace