Logistiek

歌词

FUEL, GUNS & TINY BOOTS [Verse 1] Down in Logistics there’s a mighty crew of two, One counts the rifles, one ain’t got shit else to do. He’s got a beard like the bastard we’re supposed to fight, Walks around lookin’ suspicious every goddamn night. He wakes up yellin’, “FUEL THE FUCKING TANK!” Says it at breakfast, says it while takin’ a wank. Fuel plan this, fuel plan that, If diesel was a woman, he’d probably marry that. [Chorus] It’s guns and gas and paperwork hell, Two logistics legends keepin’ shit runnin’ well. One’s got an enemy beard, one’s four-foot-three, The meanest little Smurf that you’ll ever fucking see. She’s got size thirty-four boots and a mouth twice her height, She’ll chew your ass out from morning till night. He dreams about fuel, she forgets where she sleeps, That’s Logistics, baby — professional fucking freaks. [Verse 2] Now the lady of Logistics is tiny and sweet, You could lose the poor girl underneath the passenger seat. Cute little face, little hands, little shoes, But open that mouth and everybody fucking moves. She ain’t tall enough to reach the top shelf alone, But somehow her voice shakes the goddamn combat zone. She’ll scream at a captain, a major, the cook, Then spend twenty minutes wonderin’, “Where the fuck did they book my room?” [Chorus] It’s guns and gas and paperwork hell, Two logistics legends keepin’ shit runnin’ well. One’s got an enemy beard, one’s four-foot-three, The meanest little Smurf that you’ll ever fucking see. She’s got size thirty-four boots and a mouth twice her height, She’ll chew your ass out from morning till night. He dreams about fuel, she forgets where she sleeps, That’s Logistics, baby — professional fucking freaks. [Bridge] “Where are the rifles?” “Checked!” “Where is the fuel?” “Planned!” “Where does she sleep?” “…Nobody fucking understands.” He checks the jerry cans seventeen times a day, She’s wandered into somebody else’s room anyway. He whispers “FUEL THE TANK” deep in his sleep, While Little Miss Smurf is countin’ imaginary sheep. [Verse 3] When the operation starts and the whole place burns, Everybody suddenly remembers Logistics’ turns. Need a gun? Need fuel? Need some shit right now? Call the bearded enemy-lookin’ motherfucker somehow. And right beside him comes that miniature storm, Boots size thirty-four and rage fully formed. She may need a booster seat to look you in the eye, But piss her off once and you’re gonna fucking die. [Final Chorus] Yeah, guns and gas and paperwork hell, Two crazy bastards somehow do it well. One fuels the trucks like it’s sexual desire, One’s three foot nothing but completely on fire. An enemy beard, a Smurf with rage, The weirdest damn duo on the logistics stage. So raise up your beer while the fuel truck creeps— To the king of “FUEL THE FUCKING TANK!” And the girl who forgets where she sleeps! [Outro] FUEL THE TANK. Count the guns. FUEL THE TANK. Find her room. FUEL THE FUCKING TANK. Good fucking luck.