Bed-wetting punk rock trio from Seattle.
We're a trio from Seattle. We play punk rock: loud, hard, and fast. If you've heard The Clash, Screeching Weasel, or Social D, you know what we sound like.
Lyrics
She flips the tube to the tennis match; she's got a bowl of granola snacks. She plops down and smooths out her slacks -- she loves it when Martina wiggles that ass. Her mom says she is such a ditz -- she forgot to shave her armpits. Her dad says she is such a wit -- she's not leaving in that outfit. She's blonde, she's gay, she's blonde, she's gay -- but she's happy in a heterosexual way. She's blonde, she's gay, she's blonde, she's gay -- she thinks it's queer to be perfectly straight. And later as she watches Xena and munches on a veggie pizza: Dreams of crusading like a winged Athena for the environment of Argentina. She wishes she wore more hairspray, now it's in a cheeky disarray from the backseat of Bill's Chevrolet; the poor guy can't find the right place. She's blonde, she's gay, she's blonde, she's gay -- but she's happy in a heterosexual way. She's blonde, she's gay, she's blonde, she's gay -- she thinks it's queer to be perfectly straight. She listens to Etheridge folk rock; she sips green tea in a coffee shop. She smiles back at the lady cop; she slips back off her Birkenstocks. But she'll keep on her shopping spree 'till the card reader says no more money. Banging on the door of her Grand Marquis, she wonders where she left her keys? She's blonde, she's gay, she's blonde, she's gay -- but she's happy in a heterosexual way. She's blonde, she's gay, she's blonde, she's gay -- she thinks it's queer to be perfectly straight. She's blonde, she's gay, she's blonde, she's gay -- she likes to eat at the fish taco buffet. She's blonde, she's gay, she's blonde, she's gay -- she likes to drink the pink lemonade.
Comments
The artist currently doesn't allow comments.
