Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song May 1st, artist - Sims. Album song Lights Out Paris, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 29.06.2015
Record label: Doomtree
Song language: English
May 1st |
| I mean I’m the means to my own ends |
| Ending at the fact that I’m waiting for |
| A straw to crack my already bending back |
| And then |
| I snap |
| Now where the fuck Sims is at? |
| My limbs are cracked, forced to play the wolf |
| Chewing the cuff put glue in the cuts and move on |
| Giving a shrug to nuance |
| Given the way I’m living is similar to a prison |
| Inside I’m a blizzard outside is the image put on to survive the sight |
| I’m torn up inside tonight |
| Trying to find what’s right, trying to blind what’s wrong |
| Trying to find some light, so I glide on songs |
| But the design ain’t right and the siren’s on |
| So I’m out running again |
| Ducking the fucking gun in my head |
| Somedays |
| I can’t face myself, afraid my face might melt |
| And it’ll taste like hell, I can’t handle it |
| Dismantling, the stitches are falling out |
| This is Andrew Sims' sorry self flipping the fuck out |
| And I can’t go back to back sleep |
| Well I’m up and I’m stuck running amuck in a rut |
| And |
| I can’t go back to sleep |
| In '82 I mainly knew that something wasn’t right |
| But baby grew and found a crew that bruises tons of mics |
| I’m under pressure, bottle that up |
| He makes a record I gotta follow that up? |
| Follow that? |
| Lace some new kicks and lay some new footprints |
| Afraid I might buckle, bust my knuckles trying to break through bricks |
| So I build a wall around myself so I don’t have to face that shit |
| Or taste the failing, chase the flailing loose ends |
| Now where are the saline solutions? |
| Escapee homosapien who found his haven in bruises |
| Definitely deafened by the daily deprecate |
| But it ain’t self hate, I just never walk on eggshell crates |
| Some days it’s plain it’s just time to face, reevaluate |
| Like I wonder if this record’s gonna get to |
| Then I rethink, I guess I don’t give a fuck |
| Wait, wait, yeah I do |
| I guess we all just want to be loved |
| I ain’t proud of that fact but I ain’t no angel |
| I’m just an honest man trying to buy Mom and Dad the promised land |
| I’m just an honest man trying to buy Mom and Dad what I can |
| If I was cut by the groove what the fuck would that prove? |
| Now should I open up and show my wounds to you? |
| // |
| Or should I make some songs that make the room say «Doomtree» |
| This is the maze that I maneuver through |
| See I could break them through the roof and convince to you that it’s ablaze |
| But would it make a fucking difference in these apathetic days? |
| I’m more invested in bad credit, breaks and nervous rhymes |
| This one’s for the cats who caught the itch on the inside |
| This one’s for the masterpiece bathed in turpentine |
| Half my time is stupid rhymes, buying dimes, and bleeding eyes |
| The other twelve is spent waiting for my soul on a shelf |
| And I know I’m going to hell |