Lost Art of Murder / The Good-Babyshambles

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 I lost my phone in paradise, pay as you go 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