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Lyrics365 > John Grant > Grey Tickles, Black Pressure

Grey Tickles, Black Pressure

"Grey Tickles, Black Pressure" Lyrics by John Grant

I did not think I was

The one being addressed

In hemorrhoid commercials

On the TV set

I often stand and stare

At nothing in the grocery store

Because I do not know

What to buy to eat any more

And parapraxis is

The order of the day

I never heard that word

Until tonight I have to say

And I’m supposed to believe that there’s some guy

Who will take the pain away

And there are children who have cancer

And so all bets are off

Cause I can’t compete with that

So all bets are off

Cause I can’t compete with that

I’ve got grey tickles and black pressure

And I’d rather lose my arm inside of a corn thresher

Just like Uncle Paul

Just like Uncle Paul

I, I, I

They won’t be happy til

They tear down everything

Which looks remotely cool

Or is older than two weeks

You must be kidding me

Except I do know better than to ask

I can’t believe I missed

New York during the 70’s

I could have gotten a head start

In the world of disease

I’m sure I would have contracted

Every single solitary thing

And there are children who have cancer

And so all bets are off

Cause I can’t compete with that

So all bets are off

Cause I can’t compete with that

They say let go let go let go

You must learn to let go

If I hear that fucking phrase again

This baby’s gonna blow

Into a million itsy bitsy tiny pieces

Don’t you know

Just like my favorite scene in Scanners

Apparently there was an outcry of some sort today

Which no-one heard incidentally and by the way

I have not had the strength

To leave my place in days or weeks

And I’ll never understand

What’s happening in the Middle East

And there are children who have cancer

And so all bets are off

Cause I can’t compete with that

So all bets are off

Cause I can’t compete with that

I’ve got grey tickles and black pressure

And I’d rather lose my arm inside of a corn thresher

Just like Uncle Paul

Just like Uncle Paul

I, I, I

I’ve got grey tickles and black pressure

And I’d rather lose my arm inside of a corn thresher

Just like Uncle Paul

Just like Uncle Paul

I, I, I

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