Not since the fallen Proclaimers have I heard such a thick Scottish accent on a maintream(ish) album. That, alone, makes me want drink a barrel full of Macallan and knife my best friend in the ribs. You add in the random F bombs and sad lyrics and I’m all packed and ready to hit the streets of Glasgow. But I’m lame, so I’m staying here one more night.
It’s My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry
No comments:
Post a Comment