On Our Hands
Portastatic * Track #7 On Slow Note From a Sinking Ship
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On Our Hands Lyrics
Always searching for the invention to make you rich
Then I come with bags of money to your door, and it makes you sick
We are counting on you
We are counting on you
We are counting on you
We are counting on our hands
Searching for the words to help you explain
You bring a mouthful, you just spit them out again
We are counting on you
We are counting on you
We are counting on you
We are counting on our hands