I am the D only one, searching for A you,
and if I get G caught, then the search is D through
and the D stories you hear, you know they never add up
A I hear the natives fussin' at the data G chart,
be quiet the weather's on the night news...
CHORUS
D Antique A homes, plastic G cones, stolen E rims
are they alloy or D chrome,
D Well Ive got A style, miles and G miles,
so much E style that its wasted,
D so much E style that its wasted
D E
G E
QUASI-SOLO-TYPE-THING
(X2)
2nd VERSE
She's the only one, who always inhales
Paris is stale
And it's war if we fail
And in the migrant hotels, they never sleep,
they never will
their souls are crumbling like a dirt clod hold,
your cigarette cuts to the inside
Antique homes, plastic cones, stolen rims,
are they alloy or chrome,
Well ive got style, miles and miles
So much style that its leavin
It's pattern's torn and we're weavin'
This battle's torn and we're weavin'