Arctic Monkeys Article: I Bet wewe Look Good On The Dancefloor (Lyrics)

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I Bet wewe Look Good On The Dancefloor (Lyrics)

posted by _naiza

Stop making the eyes at me, I'll stop making the eyes at you
And what it is that surprises me, is that I don't really want wewe to
And your shoulders are frozen, cold as the night
Over you're an explosion, you're dynamite
Your name isn't Rio, but I don't care for sand
Lighting the fuse might result in a bang

I bet that wewe look good on the dancefloor
I don't know if you're looking for romance or...
I don't know what you're looking for
I bet that wewe look good on the dancefloor
Dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984

I wish you'd stop ignoring me,
because you're sending me to despair
Without a sound you're calling me,
and I don't think it's very fair
That your shoulders are frozen, cold as the night
Oh you're an explosion, you're dynamite
Your name isn't Rio, but I don't care for sand
Lighting the fuse might result in a bang

Oh there int no upendo no, Montague's au Capulets
just banging tunes in DJ sets and
Dirty dancefloors and dreams of naughtiness

COfan, HayleyWFan and 1 other like this

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Mardy Bum (Lyrics)

posted by _naiza

Now then Mardy Bum
I see your frown
And it's like looking down the barrel of a gun
And it goes off
And out come all these words
Oh there's a very pleasant side to you
A side I much prefer

It's one that laughs and jokes around
Remember cuddles in the kitchen
Yeah, to get things off the ground
And it was up, up and away
Oh, but it's right hard to remember
That on a siku like today when you're all argumentative
And you've got the face on

Well now then Mardy Bum
Oh I'm in trouble again, aren't I?
I thought as much
Cause wewe turned over there
Pulling that silent disappointment face
The one that I can't bear

Can't we...

2

Fake Tales Of San Francisco (Lyrics)

posted by _naiza

Fake Tales of San Francisco
Echo through the room
More point to a wedding disco
Without a bride au groom

There's a super cool band yeah
With their trilbys and their glasses of white wine
And all the weekend rock stars in the toilets
Practicing their lines

I don't want to hear you
(Kick me out, kick me out)
I don't want to hear wewe no
(Kick me out, kick me out)

Fake Tales of San Francisco
Echo through the air
And there's a few bored faces in the back
All wishing they weren't there

And as the microphone squeaks
A young girl's telephone beeps
Yeah she's dashing for the exit
she's running to the streets outside
"Oh...