Paroles:
Pogues Lorca S Novena

with a pistol up his arse Mother of all our joys.... The killers came to mutilate the dead But ran away in terror to search the town instead But Lorca's

our sorrows Intercede with him tonight For all of our tomorrows The killers came to mutilate the dead But ran away in terror to search the town instead But Lorca's

with a pistol up his arse Mother of all our joys.... The killers came to mutilate the dead But ran away in terror to search the town instead But Lorca's