Текст песни Pulp — Weeds II

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This is the true story of the weeds, the origin of the species
A story of cultivation, exploitation, civilization

Found flowering on wasteland unnoticed, unofficial, accidental
A cutting was taken but weeds do not thrive under hothouse conditions
And wilt when in competition with more exotic strains
A charming naivety, very short flowering season
No sooner has the first blooming begun than decay sets in
Bring your camera, take a photo of life on the margins
Offer money in exchange for sex and then get a taxi home

The story has always been the same
A source of wonder due to their ability to thrive on poor quality soil offering very little nourishment
Drinking 'Nurishment'
But weeds must be kept under strict control or they will destroy everything in their path

Growing wild, then harvested in their prime and passed around at dinner parties
Care for some weed?
So natural, so wild, so unrefined and someone's gonna make a fortune one day
If only they can market this stuff right

Come on, do your dance
Come on, do your funny little dance
Germination. Plantation. Exploitation. Civilization
A sensational buzz-zzzzzz
Crop rotation. Genetic modification. The creation of expectation. Ultimate frustration.
This is the story of the weeds, the origin of the species

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