Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Supercell, artist - Aesop Rock. Album song The Impossible Kid, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 28.04.2016
Record label: Rhymesayers Entertainment
Song language: English
Supercell |
| Die already |
| None defy the one-man walled city |
| Stone made flesh, veins etched in his hands |
| 88 stance draped in invasive plants |
| And rain dance unsafely, brace for the supercell |
| Mutiny or footage for your blooper reel, who can tell |
| Pours hot tar from the top of the barn |
| Necktie on his head, condor on his arm |
| Dog Star in a jar, bordering unsustainable |
| Mea culpa, mea culpa, maybe I should pray occult |
| Systematic Catholic or sigil of the Baphomet unraveling |
| Either way his ID show a snake and skull |
| Always been a private dude who couldn’t keep a tally |
| Of which lies he told who |
| Dye his hair, shave, change names and his lazy drawl |
| Soon enough I will estrange you all |
| I get ghost |
| On Dasher |
| Half-dead carolers deck a hall, wreck a whole advent calendar |
| Brother on speakerphone lurking at the Burgerville |
| Bathrobe hammer toes murdering the curb appeal |
| Would I be returning or forsaken with the craven and |
| Carnivorous vegetation that take him for his Steak-umms |
| I dunno I gotta think about it |
| Truthfully I don’t know which makes me a bigger coward |
| Either stomach all the hubris, cash in his two cents |
| Loose lips locked up over a chewed Eucharist |
| Or, maybe re-appropriate the energy |
| Holed up, passing the poultry to Hecate |
| Bullheaded burn out fled his own pedigree |
| And never better, never would’ve met your Heaven anyway |
| Anyway, merry merry go make soup out of bones |
| Just know when the room go cold |
| I’m a ghost |
| Ghost ghost ghost |
| He’s ghost |
| Flea comb, exorcism and de-worming |
| Fitted for a curse and a crown of birds circling |
| Search party falling forward unthwarted |
| Meet him at the crossroads drawn and quartered |
| For a master of puppets, how sad are his cupboards |
| Non-dairy creamers, can of last supper |
| And a runneth over cup full of black tap water |
| Its a marvel of privacy over pack hunter |
| Raspberry jelly on his Jesus toast |
| And turn heather gray sweats into Easter clothes |
| With no immediately measurable crimewave ice-age |
| Christ children still skin a cat sideways |
| I don’t pick teams or administer bans |
| I’m in the creek with a pick and a pan, it go |
| Forcibly ejected or a voluntary death scene |
| Tell 'em what the out-of-order blinking EMF mean |
| Ghost |