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Fia.B wrote: Man kan aldrig få nog av den kroppen.. eh, musiken 🙄

Usch och fy vad ytlig du framstår här. 😉

November Rain - Guns N Roses

Möjligen Patience - Guns N Roses

Mycket bra texter

Trasiga skor med Wreeswik(stava) är bra också

Xuestor wrote: November Rain - Guns N Roses

Möjligen Patience - Guns N Roses

Mycket bra texter

Trasiga skor med Wreeswik(stava) är bra också

Vreeswijk

Fia.B wrote: [quote=skiroy][quote=Fia.B]Bewahret einander vor Herzeleid
denn kurz ist die Zeit die ihr beisammen seid

Denn wenn euch auch viele Jahre vereinen
einst werden sie wie Minuten euch Scheinen

Herzeleid

Bewahret einander vor der Zweisamkeit

Hrmmm...

Rammstein har du lyssnat på lite väl för mycket va? 😉

Nä, varför då? 😀 Finns inget som heter 'för mycket' när det gäller Rammstein. Man kan aldrig få nog av den kroppen.. eh, musiken 🙄

Har hittat någon med rätt musiksmak! Rammstein kan man aldrig ledsna på.

Förövrigt tycker jag Bob Dylans Hurricane har en helt ok text.

Pistol shots ring out in the barroom night
Enter Patty Valentine from the upper hall.
She sees the bartender in a pool of blood,
Cries out, "My God, they killed them all!"
Here comes the story of the Hurricane,
The man the authorities came to blame
For somethin' that he never done.
Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

Three bodies lyin' there does Patty see
And another man named Bello, movin' around mysteriously.
"I didn't do it," he says, and he throws up his hands
"I was only robbin' the register, I hope you understand.
I saw them leavin'," he says, and he stops
"One of us had better call up the cops."
And so Patty calls the cops
And they arrive on the scene with their red lights flashin'
In the hot New Jersey night.

Meanwhile, far away in another part of town
Rubin Carter and a couple of friends are drivin' around.
Number one contender for the middleweight crown
Had no idea what kinda shit was about to go down
When a cop pulled him over to the side of the road
Just like the time before and the time before that.
In Paterson that's just the way things go.
If you're black you might as well not show up on the street
'Less you wanna draw the heat.

Alfred Bello had a partner and he had a rap for the cops.
Him and Arthur Dexter Bradley were just out prowlin' around
He said, "I saw two men runnin' out, they looked like middleweights
They jumped into a white car with out-of-state plates."
And Miss Patty Valentine just nodded her head.
Cop said, "Wait a minute, boys, this one's not dead"
So they took him to the infirmary
And though this man could hardly see
They told him that he could identify the guilty men.

Four in the mornin' and they haul Rubin in,
Take him to the hospital and they bring him upstairs.
The wounded man looks up through his one dyin' eye
Says, "Wha'd you bring him in here for? He ain't the guy!"
Yes, here's the story of the Hurricane,
The man the authorities came to blame
For somethin' that he never done.
Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

Four months later, the ghettos are in flame,
Rubin's in South America, fightin' for his name
While Arthur Dexter Bradley's still in the robbery game
And the cops are puttin' the screws to him, lookin' for somebody to blame.
"Remember that murder that happened in a bar?"
"Remember you said you saw the getaway car?"
"You think you'd like to play ball with the law?"
"Think it might-a been that fighter that you saw runnin' that night?"
"Don't forget that you are white."

Arthur Dexter Bradley said, "I'm really not sure."
Cops said, "A poor boy like you could use a break
We got you for the motel job and we're talkin' to your friend Bello
Now you don't wanta have to go back to jail, be a nice fellow.
You'll be doin' society a favor.
That sonofabitch is brave and gettin' braver.
We want to put his ass in stir
We want to pin this triple murder on him
He ain't no Gentleman Jim."

Rubin could take a man out with just one punch
But he never did like to talk about it all that much.
It's my work, he'd say, and I do it for pay
And when it's over I'd just as soon go on my way
Up to some paradise
Where the trout streams flow and the air is nice
And ride a horse along a trail.
But then they took him to the jailhouse
Where they try to turn a man into a mouse.

All of Rubin's cards were marked in advance
The trial was a pig-circus, he never had a chance.
The judge made Rubin's witnesses drunkards from the slums
To the white folks who watched he was a revolutionary bum
And to the black folks he was just a crazy nigger.
No one doubted that he pulled the trigger.
And though they could not produce the gun,
The D.A. said he was the one who did the deed
And the all-white jury agreed.

Rubin Carter was falsely tried.
The crime was murder "one," guess who testified?
Bello and Bradley and they both baldly lied
And the newspapers, they all went along for the ride.
How can the life of such a man
Be in the palm of some fool's hand?
To see him obviously framed
Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land
Where justice is a game.

Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties
Are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise
While Rubin sits like Buddha in a ten-foot cell
An innocent man in a living hell.
That's the story of the Hurricane,
But it won't be over till they clear his name
And give him back the time he's done.
Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

Hmm, måste faktiskt säga att Clawfinger har ena jävla bra texter också, även fast det inte är mitt direkta favoritband...
Vad du än tycker om de borde du ta och läsa texten nedan, den är helt underbar.

Clawfinger - Recipe For Hate
first of all I make sure I've got the right ingredients before I heat up the pan
I take a little bit of bitterness to grease it up & keep everything close at hand
then I add a few ounces of fresh frustration and half a cup of attitude
A rush of adrenaline to spice things up & then half a spoon of bad mood
one bottle of my sweat one bottle of tears, a few drops of my own blood
it all blends together like a cat and dog and the result is as clear as mud
I pick the worst situation out of the bunch & throw it right into the mix
& last but not least I add a little bit of spit, just a few little nasty cliques

That's my recipe for hate

I turn up the heat to 400 degrees and go to work on the attitude
I shake it all up in a provocative way to make sure it comes out rude
Then I grind down the frustration hard so that all of the scents can blend
I pour the sweat on top & then the tears to make sure that I don't make friends
when the mood is wrong, everything is right, I can add the adrenaline
but I've got to be careful with the dose I use, the effect shouldn't wear to thin
the blood comes last cos' it always has a tendancy to cool and coagulate
so I calculate and make no mistakes, it's so fresh that it still pulsates

That's my recipe for hate......

When the meal is done you get a spoiled appetite & a dish full of disagree
some ignorance on the side, a plate full of hate, served with a fistful of me