Boca

Boca
Florian Pellissier Quintet Lyrics


We have lyrics for 'Boca' by these artists:


AM LA SCAMPIA Eh Noxious C′est Maradona dans l'coup C′est Marseille, sale …
B. Chaps Na relíquia do papo reto Esse é o Dj do Crime Pega…
Berywam Berywam Brasil Bra brasil Bra, bra, bra, bra, bra Minha boc…
Bianca Andrade Boca a boca, boca a boca, boca a boca Boca, boca…
D4r Pour l′papier j'ai tout donné Rien ne sert de mythoner Pour…
Danni Carlos Dentro dos jogos de amor Sobraram eu e você Eu tento não…
Daúde Adoro o cheiro da sua boca O gosto da tua saliva A…
Dreamcatcher 모든 타겟은 널 향해 있어 날 없이 베이는 상처 말 안 해도…
Francisca Valenzuela Yo te veo ahí (bo-bo-boca, boca) En este lugar (bo-bo-boca, …
Gaia Nesse lugar, a música 'tá alta e o meu corpo…
Gisselle Boca, tejidos atrevidos como un libro de aventuras, que ha p…
Godo No sé qué está pasando (eh) Internet Trash Gang, ey Quiere …
Hornet La Frappe Tu parles trop Fais pas l'fou Fais pas l'chaud Tu fais l'fou…
Leviano - Topic (Nagalli, he sent me the magic) Muito tempo na boca Agora e…
Liniker e os Caramelows E na boca, aqui dentro de mim tudo buzina E na…
Nahir Eh C'est la cité à éviter, le sang froid comme Allico Sur…
Ney Matogrosso Você vai saber o que é que eu tenho pra…
Noporn Era tudo como o amor e a escravidão Os olhos cheios…
Reinaldo Alvarez Tengo un cuerpo en ansiedad, tengo el deseo en rebosar, teng…
Strat Strat the plug woo, woo (Ay yo BeTaf, why you chop…
T.a.p.e.s Todo dia a mesma coisa Já não sei o que fazer,…
Tiger & Woods Quién fue el demente a quién se le ocurre en qué…
Verrina & Ventura [Thytto] Formei na boca, formei na boca Formei na boca, fo…
Žuvi Iden vanka uzet ću bocu Donesi bocu naplati bocu Ko ima bocu…



드림캐쳐 모든 타겟은 널 향해 있어 날 없이 베이는 상처 말 안 해도…


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@flowdeparis

Boca, text written by Anthony JosephTranscription by Joy Poirel


You run from la Boca, but now you’re running to come backRunning to go Boca but now you’re running to go back You run from la Boca, but now you’re running to come backRunning from la Boca but now you’re running to come back

So this was Drayton, and he was standing in the groan of morning He was leaving the island behind, at least for nowBlue hills to fade, hills of hunters with flambeau blinking.The coast, the north, dense forest, green rivers, all that gone,water pass, business fix, he go settle for cold, for now: Metropolis.
But first he had to flee, he had to flee from the home of his mistressAnd she had poisoned his feet and poured lust into the corners of his eyesShe had wept crotch-wise to rice, sweat rice and wept, she had wept and swept her waters upon him. Put him with his shirt flung open to lie on the delicate bed of her sexWhile the fern curtains billowed above.
It was mid-afternoon, near the coast,And this woman was washing her great breasts in the sinkAnd in the valley below, the school bell rang out and children began to fill the void.This poem was composed on the tip of the tongue.There were no mistakes, no errors of judgement, No rhythm that can fail.And since rhythm is a unit of meaningAnd a vision for which the road must be clear, the road must be so slant that Drayton would find himself walkingagainst its angle, touching the asphalt wall of the road for balance,looking down to quarry bone like walking around the mountain.
But there was a straight road out of town, and in that townDrayton joined an Easter Parade.Someone threw him a bugle and since he had long memorised the pentatonic scale.You see, a bugle can blow, but it can’t blow flat,he found that he could play just by putting the horn to his mouth.

But poison in his foot, and he is slipping, falling off the edge of the world
He saw the woman coming behind him.Coming to come and crying, crying real tears.And she coming from El Salvador, and she coming from Saint Kitts.And she coming from Grenada, and she coming from Peru.And she coming from Barbados, look she coming from Tobago. Look she coming from Saint Vincent, she coming from Guadeloupe.Look she rolling under the ocean, look she coming from some foreign film.She has come bare-footed, straight from her bedroom, her drawers are still twisted in her crotch and she is pushing through the crowd towards Drayton.But same old run can't run dream sequence.So Drayton, in his power, paints his face black as a mask.And he runs sideways fastest through the parade.But imagine if a blade hiding in that woman handA blade dipped so deep in oil, it would leave marks in waterIt would skin flesh to bone, and back.
The woman vex.
She wants to bury Drayton jawbone in the desert for seven days so the teeth would rattle in his jaw like charrasca.But her palms and her tongue were both blackwith sin like soucouyant - she can’t do right.But Drayton had loved her and he'd even told her so.It was the last Sunday in June and they were far inlanddeep in wild country: la Boca.And she was bent over her enamel basin rinsing with a rag reserved for washing.But by that time what was even stranger was the fact that she had tried to cut Drayton’s throat several times.And when he couldn’t bare anymore to kiss the wrinkled mouth of her sex,Drayton vomit up vinegar and run.
Well, look he running from El Salvador, he running from Trinidad.Look he running from Brazil, look he running from Surinam.And then so Drayton end up in England,the man was just trying to change his life.Look he running from Belize, look he running from GuyanaLook he running from Saint Lucia, he running from DominicaHe running from la Boca, running from la Boca.He running from Saint Kitts, look he running from Saint Vincent.Look he running from Trinidad, look he running from La BocaRunning, running, he running from La Boca.
Run from la Boca now, you running to come back.Look you running from la Boca but now you’re running to come back…

@francoquintana9162

why La Boca?

@flowdeparis

cause its the wildest place

@mariehone7130

Excellent .Heureux mois de mai , sur cette musique par exemple ;-)