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Matson Jones
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New York City Fuck Off
I'm sick of electronic fingers
And voices through receivers
Give me hands
I'm sick of neurotic picture-makers
And heady confrontation
Give me heart
Oh
I'm through with electronic letters
And too many vices
Give me help
I'm through with love with picture-makers
and New York City
Fuck off
Oh
Run, run, run, run, run that town
We run, run, run, run, run that town
Run, run, run, run, run me down
You run, run, run, run, run me down
Run me down
I'm over cigarettes burned to the filters
And cold that hurts my fingers
Give me gloves
I'm over lonely picture-makers
Who scatter their hearts
Give me guts
Oh
I'm through with lonely conversations
And heartfelt contradictions
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Give me grace
I'm through with tragic picture-makers
And optimistic suckers
Fuck off
Oh
Run, run, run, run, run that town
We run, run, run, run, run that town
Run, run, run, run, run me down
You run, run, run, run, run me down
Run, run, run, run, run that town
We run, run, run, run, run that town
Run, run, run, run, run me down
You run, run, run, run, run me down
Run me down
I'm sick of electronic fingers
And voices through receivers
Give me hands
I'm sick of neurotic picture-makers
And heady confrontation
Give me heart
I'm over cigarettes burned to the filters
And cold that hurts my fingers
Give me gloves
I'm over lonely picture-makers
Who scatter their hearts
Give me some fucking guts
Oh
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