Autonomadic
NOTHING
By: Autonomadic
Catalog ID: 263228   Duration: 2:45   Tempo: Med Fast   BPM: 147   Vocal: Male Vocals   Explicit Lyrics
Genre: Indie Rock Music | Punk
Social Media Link: http://www.audiosparx.com/sa/archive/Indie-Rock/Punk/Nothing/263228
Angry, political, punk rock song about homelessness.   Keywords: Angry, Political, Punk, Rock



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Long Description: Nothing, Indie Rock Music, Punk, royalty free music download, music for tv and royalty-free song

Keywords: Nothing, royalty free music download, music for tv, royalty-free song, royalty free music, music loops, stock music clips, royalty free audio, stock music, royalty free sounds, production music, corporate music, stock music library, download music, download music clips, film music, flash music, royalty free music library, independent music, download stock music, royalty free music loops, music for videos, commercial music, music clips, instrumental music, music licensing, royalty free sound, royalty-free songs, cheap production music, buyout music, barber music library, music for flash, background music for powerpoint, Angry, Political, Punk, Rock

Lyrics:
Hey brother, can you spare a dime? I'm too hungry to swallow my pride; plus pride can't get you that drunk -- but it sure can eff you up. It's cold and lonely out here, with my empty cans of lite beer (in a plastic bag, with my Shakespeare) -- they're worth ten cents (in Michigan). My slacks are caked with feces from hiding in soggy allies, dreaming of girls and toddies (that we used to drink). And when I roll my sleeve up I've found my one and true love. It hurts like hell to come down -- that's why I just go round and round.  It's cold and lonely out here, with my empty cans of lite beer (in a plastic bag, with my Shakespeare) -- they're worth ten cents (in Michigan). My slacks are caked with feces from hiding in soggy allies, dreaming of girls and toddies (that we used to drink). This bottle that I'm holding is gone now, and I'm rolling down a steep, wet embankment; I wonder where my life went? It's cold and lonely out here, with my empty cans of lite beer (in a plastic bag, with my Shakespeare) -- they're worth ten cents (in Michigan). My slacks are caked with feces from hiding in soggy allies, dreaming of girls and toddies (that we used to drink). We'd drink them just like the man in the big house, listening to Wagner, Brahms, and Strauss (his wife, she never puts out). They've done nothing -- nothing!
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