Bad Apples - Guns N' Roses

Yooou've gottt Nothing to live for, your a plague A filthy fucking drain On the world, and everything it holds So I'll stop talking to myself, it's getting old I'm getting old, like this song So fall in line or fall apart and DIE Just goooo Give up hoooope It's in your booooat along with you So whatcha gonna do? Oh is it me or is your status sold At the mall or in your favorite store Where adolescent hypocrites would go, to get clothed and then get laid As they creep their way into some girl that would feel vain if she said... Gooo Give up hooope It's in your booat along with you Gooo Give up hooope It's in your boooaat along with you So whatcha gonna... When you lose control, HA! You'll get it When you lose it all You'll get it, get it *Guitar Solo* Just goooo Give up hooope It's in your boooat along with you So whatcha gonna do?

Oscillations, oscillations Electronic evocations of sound's reality Spinning, magnetic fluctuations Waves of wave configurations That dance between the poles off sound And bind my world to soul I walk the streets of moment Head down to the ground Cars are stars remotely far My only world is sound Passersby are worlds that fly Far from the dance of time Time whirls round from pole to pole And swirls within the sound of... Oscillations, oscillations Electronic evocations of sound's reality Spinning, magnetic fluctuations Waves of wave configurations That dance between the poles off sound And bind my world to soul Oscillations, oscillations Oscillations, oscillations Oscillations, oscillations Oscillations, oscillations Oscillations, oscillations Oscillations, oscillations Oscillations, oscillations Oscillations, oscillations Oscillations, oscillations Oscillations, oscillations Oscillations, oscillations Oscillations, o-

Dust, this day is hash... A broken bottle's inside Strewn with rinds of love And shattered shells of soul. Dust of other days... Crumpled hours of devotion Washed down gutter streams To sink within the tide. Dust of love squeezed dry... Hateful fingers strangled joy Self-made love as bare as bone Dropped down to dusty morning.

Delilah the dancer from Soho Was making her way down the lane Simpson from Harrow Had fruit on his barrow He sold it for love and for gain Simpson said, "Hello, young woman" "My Pippins are lovely today" "Don't be suspicious" "Of Golden Delicious" "Whatever your granny might say" There only apples, red and green Apples, lovely, ripe and juicy and especially for you Right off me barrow, me old cock sparrow Apples, red and green Delilah the dancer from Soho Took ages to make up her mind Simpson said, "Madam," "You'd know if you'd 'ad 'em" "That these are the very best kind" "This is the pick of the orchard" "Forgive me a figure of speech" "But apples like these here" "Just don't grow on trees, dear" "And this one is really a peach" There only apples, red and green Apples, lovely, ripe and juicy and especially for you Right off my barrow, my old cock sparrow Apples, red and green Simpson picked out a green apple He polished it up on his sleeve He said, "Do me a favour" "And savour the flavour" "Of what you're about to receive" Delilah the dancer from Soho Accepted his gift with a smile She said, "It looks like a good 'un" "It'll do for my pudden" "I'll get round to it after a while" There only apples, red and green Apples, lovely, ripe and juicy and especially for you Right off my barrow, my old cock sparrow Apples, red and green