These are the unregulated rabbit holes, Barrack homes and taverns built for devil's acre Opium enthusiasts and baritones, marigold - The garish allure of the burning barbary, Underbelly born of 40 thieves in whorish harmony, Hammering for the dark and heartless, Harpy, shark and harlot argue breathing room, Do not let the arson jeeper-creeper you, If we elect the scenic route see it as greener grasses, Like morphine after snatch help you forget diseases matter, Not to mention 15 cents for either weakens cheaper gamblers Down for hell inside a melting pot, No one's ever melting they just yell a lot, Stab each other, drink and eat and belly-flop, Murder Point, your thoroughfare at 12 o'clock Is hell and back, EMB to chinatown, Kearny clashing cutters out the netherworld, Sydney ducks to pistol fuck the centerfold, Every cellar iniquity, pretty killers and pistol petes, Might wake up with horses tearing at your limbs symmetrically.
Chorus: Tomorrow morning when the wharf is finished warping, You will wash up on the shore and wonder what was so alluring. (El-P) Tomorrow evening when the leeches finish feeding, You'll regret the ownership of an aorta that is bleeding
Before a later bay was calm, disreputable hangers on, Would rumble for the hungry like montgomery's little ghenghis khans, Who plain as day would operate in holes where no patrollers go, Groggeries that host the most ignoble dog and pony show, Francis of Assisi in his grave alone to roller-coast, His opus now a cove where all the lowest lows can grow and grow, With no sign of a holy ghost, More the polar: horns and rosy cloven toes, Bunny-hop claims, fold and overthrow, Gangland anchors hit the harbor down for hangman, Shuffle fifty two and slip the chew behind the fang-span, Greenhorn, he just wanna help his hammers harmonize, Stowed in hell's cargo by the spark in those wells fargo eyes, And famine wasn't featured in the pamphlet, neither were the cancers, Camp was smoking chimney, mantle, taxidermy antlers, Now the sourdough is lifted out the honeycombs of kitchens, Satan out on broadway and pacific blowing kisses.
Chorus: Tomorrow morning when the wharf is finished warping, You will wash up on the shore and wonder what was so alluring. (El-P) Tomorrow evening when the leeches finish feeding, You'll regret the ownership of an aorta that is bleeding
40 winks, pissy at the grizzly, no lullaby, Clark's point trollops off the docks to flood and multiply, Until a brilliant golden mother-load in the bank, Hold up your drink, She said between her legs that other gold's pink, Sold it for cheap along the waterfront, wretched little clusters Push a fuss of smutty huffing plus some itching and discomfort Little wonder you, in public for the buck, it's rugged, Rusty cutter gut any cutty drunkard who want it Hellcat maggie, aggie, move to the music, She had learned to spoon pollution in a climate pruned for losing, Thousand more like her in the cow-yards moo-ing, ooo-wee, Beneath the brutal harvest moon and UV, Note it's the very same foundation on which you and yours sleep, Layers of players over debaucherous troubadour speak, They puff the pathogens and never let the humidors breath, That's why you grew up on stale tobacco and juniper trees,Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
