Can you, can you... Can you hear me? I'm speaking through you The signal weakens from this begrizzled beacon so pay attention
We painted our faces on a permanent moon to avoid being type cast as surrogate coons But there is no treatment for American gloom, so I'm taking my reverberant room and I'm gone far With the money and sheet music and discarded doodles (yeah) The company they work for cut spending, bringing all ballerisms to abrupt ending But if you think it's me you're up-ending We could be grinding even if it's gut wrenching And we're on one Like we're knee deep in drug-vending, fuck lemmings whose love spending gives us the best things Like a J down the space suit of sweat stained The undercovers gave me a cute pet-name Now I'm being targeted by jet-plane Because I'm so motherfucking subversive With excessive panache I'm dressed in a sash My name is a number, an X and a dash Embedded in mass who stole all the savings and had sex with the cash
As far as these lives, we get one each And then our bodies are tucked in the junk heap But all these mistakes tend to cut deep I swear I can hear you die just a little bit in the
Yo Dangling in a thread of my temporal lobe I thrust my fist up life's freckled nose Then walked around like I genitals to hold It wasn't for embezzled gold It was just for you and you and you Don't propose a toast for unusual hosts Using musical notes to fuel the U-Boats (You pricks) All the credit inside your checking account Sits in a mechanized sexless mouth And getting it back, boy, the pressure mounts So you're having a stroke and the medic's en route This is the ending I was showing niggas that I had exquisite taste Now I'm locked out of all of my vivid scapes And the capital gains is a Christian faith Of the livid apes, staying in debate Over the unhappy lives that we have to live But we still do it, eating inkjets, building swing sets from dragon ribs All the internet chatter is a by-product of my madness Turning me into a vapid and glib capitalist pig I didn't notice until now that a shoe's a phone For what reason would any tycoon atone? But for me to find money I need to get a dune combed Because I'm so motherfucking self-destructive I'm caressing a rash from a decadent past My judgment calls are second at last I'm rendered in ash when I ingest the asp
As far as these lives, we get one each Then our bodies are tucked in the junk heap But I can't afford all the upkeep I swear I can hear myself die just a little bit in the
Upsweep Upsweep Upsweep Upsweep Upsweep Upsweep Upsweep Upsweep Upsweep UpsweepTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
