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: https://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, tv music, stock music loops and royalty free background music

Keywords: Nothing, tv music, stock music loops, royalty free background music, download stock music, royalty free audio, license music, music library, stock music tracks, stock music downloads, stock music clips, download music clips, production music library, music for video, royalty free music downloads, music wav, royalty free mp3, flash music, film music, royalty-free music, commercial stock music, business music, stock music sound effects, music licensing, cheap royalty free music, royalty-free songs, royalty-free song, royalty free sound, royalty free music library, music clips, original artists music, licensing of music, licensing commercial music, 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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Nothing


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