Lost Art Of Murder / The Good Old Days Songtext / Lyric

Roll a four, roll a nine

Find yourself washed up in paradise

Like before you didn't mind

Someone else washed up in paradise, everyday

What a nice day for a murder

Yourself a killer but the only thing you're killing is your time

There's nothing absurder than a burd'

It's a burden to your heart, soul, body, spirit and mind

Don't look back at me like that, she won't take you back

I said too much, been too unkind

Get off your back, stop smoking that

Change your life, just might change her mind, her mind

Roll a four, roll a nine

Find yourself washed up in paradise

All the fours to all the nines

What a nice day for a murder

Say you're a killer, I think you're killing is time

There's nothing absurder than a burd'

It's a burden to your heart, soul, body, spirit and mind

Oh, don't look at me like that, she won't take you back

Done too much, been too unkind

Get up off your back, stop smoking that

Change your life, think it'll change her mind

Don't look at me like that, she won't take you back

Said too much, been too unkind

Get up off your back, stop smoking that

Change your life, just might change her mind