Rollaroll - John Cale

You’re sticking to me like a dirty joke

A creeping back stabber, or a hula hoop

You hit like a butcher with meat on fire

You love it or hate it but you bury time

Rollaroller, rollaroll

Rollaroller, rollaroll

Rollaroller, ah rollaroller

Rollaroller, rollaroll

And you don’t feel nothing when it’s stuck to the chair

I ain’t dead as a door nail when you’re not there

Well, push on over a rollaroller

Feeling the pressure of a rollaroll

Ah treadin' on fire, are you waving goodbye?

And there’s garbage on garbage, right up to the sky

Ah, rollaroller

Rollaroller, ah rollaroll

Rollaroller, rollaroll

Yeah rollaroller, rollaroll

Rollaroller, rollaroll

Rollaroller, rollaroll

Rollaroller, rollaroll

Rollaroller, rollaroll

Rollaroller, rollaroll

Rollaroller, rollaroll

Rollaroller, rollaroll