you know what I mean I'm rhythm machine, he knows what I mean, oh Yeah, yeah I'm a rhythm machine, I'm a rhythm machine I'm a rhythm machine, don't
CHORUS Primitive Rhythm Machine, it's the true, rhythm of the natives, tho wholy rhythm. God creates, jungle beats Evil, only perverts. Verse 1 African
[CHORUS] Primitive Rhythm Machine, it's the true, rhythm of the natives, tho wholy rhythm. God creates, jungle beats Evil, only perverts. [Verse 1] African
Traduction: Bad Company. Rhythm Machine.
Traduction: Gloria Estefan Miami Sound Machine. Rhythm Is Gonna Get Vous.
Traduction: Mortification. Primitive Rhythm Machine.
you know what I mean, I'm rhythm machine; he knows what I mean, oh. Yeah, yeah. I'm a rhythm machine; I'm a rhythm machine, I'm a rhythm machine, don
i want what the future holds now. i want to be overwhelmed right now. i want reality to set in. we can't sit and wait forever. with time invested, with
this luck has tapped me on the shoulder once again. it's testing all and every possible turn and bridge. and dodging everything but deja vu's. at least
with all this weight hanging on my shoulders, you'd think i'd be in shape. with all these hands grabbing at my ankles, it's funny they're not black and
just keep me company while i slap myself to stay awake. involving everyone in routine yawns and balls and chains. plead with me now, yield with me now
it?s begging to get back Begging to get back To my heart To the rhythm of my soul To the rhythm of my consciousness To the rhythm of yes To be
Though it?s begging to get back Begging to get back To my heart To the rhythm of my soul To the rhythm of my consciousness To the rhythm of yes To be
, thud, whack, bam! It's the clatter machines They greet you And say We tap out a rhythm And sweep you away A clatter machine What a magical sound A
get jealous You Gotta Work It's not coincidental I use my soul for a stencil to outline the rhyme that connects machine and a mind Until the end of
didn't know you had to keep the ego front page I didn't know you had to keep the ego front page [DOVE:] I got seventeen kids who speak to peak rhythms
(Savage, Willis, Elliott) Oh yeah She was a foxy rocker, a roxy roller An unchained sex machine Yeah Slippin' slidin', electric glidin' And boy
Strange how the rumble of fighter planes once Disturbed the rhythm of the balconies' plants And after silence then far away The sudden cannon's roar.
