Fantastic Pace - Portugal. The Man

He was born in the first grade

Hungry little lion

Swallowed all he saw

Still he’s barely alive

He was a colorful person

Born of some colorful people

Opened up his mouth

Poured some colorful speeches

His home was a tar paper palette

Tyvek green house

Pumped into the culdesac

Gravel housing his house

Living like the drinks are rivers, wells, creeks, oceans, bays

Every year we get a little older found in his ways

I hope he never grows, grows into nothing

I hope he never grows, grows into nothing

He’s not so well behaved

What are we to do?

Get him to the digging

Stick him over in the corner

Got a little place out in the crystal fires

No one wants you, no one wants you, no one wants you

What are we to do?

No one wants you, no one wants you, no one wants you

What are we to do?

No one wants you, no one wants you, no one wants you

What are we to do?

No one wants you, no one wants you, no one wants you

What are we to do?

What are we to do?

What are we to do?

Starving empty stares pushed it down in the parking lots

The valley, lake, cars and the riverbed hang out a long way

From the little lion in black full-body snowsuits snowshoe

Goosebay and neighbors claims on empty lots

Where guns and gold were goals given up given

His pace below all the giants growing up at a fantastic pace

Fantastic pace

Fantastic pace

Fantastic pace