| Scrapyard ghosts levitating, slap box under wolf moons
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| Above streets where siri noted coordinates and was too scared to speak,
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| come through
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| Host the grease, burnin' candles in the teeth
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| Summoned by the killer who remembered the names of each
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| Southside cop killer queens
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| Circle the vehicle and squeeze
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| Dusty feet beat streets with the breeze to their back
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| Some things you just can’t leave in the past
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| They follow you home like skinny dogs separated from the pack
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| Toss another bone in the valley, they gnash
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| (Toss another bone in the valley, they gnash)
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| Dead cars stuffed with garbage line lost blocks
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| Laughin' at alternate side parkin'
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| Copper wire by the yard, scrap by the pound
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| Capoeira with the words, I just spin 'em round and round and round
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| That blood spattered Pelourinho center the town
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| Her bloody gown
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| Drug mud through the big house, massa gon' frown
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| Right before we throw him in the ground
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| Throw it in neutral, my cousins’ll push me out, out
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| Pin-stripe and buffalo plaid, industrial gas leak
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| Good project heat, chap lip, cracked, A&D for the scab
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| Dead cats in the streets for a week
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| 'Tussin, rubbin' the gash
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| A few doors down from the beast
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| I was passed, smoked out on the Ave
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| The brash will discourage and the timid never try
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| The last born burden that he carried 'til he died
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| Earth, wind and fire, Brazilian rhyme, it’s wild
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| Nine and out user, what it look like to be free and alive at 35
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| (what it look like to be free and alive at 35)
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| Big Bitcoin horde and a VCR that still records
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| Teeny demises and reports
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| Bust through the ceiling and was floored
|
| Yahweh’s gardener was bored
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| Since he hopped off the porch
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| In communion with the source
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| Lots of sauce and a little force
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| Franz Kafka metamorph
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| Black Orpheus at the course
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| In the backwoods, jiggin' with no remorse, jiggin' with no remorse
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| In the backwoods, jiggy with no remorse, jiggy with no remorse
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| In the backwoods, jiggin' with no remorse, jiggin' with no remorse
|
| Pointed and said, «walk 'til the air thins»
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| Won’t see the water, but you’ll taste salt in the wind
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| The city’s a hoarder, long dead in her bed
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| Shiftin' borders, buckle and bend
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| All the president’s men suckled at the cracked shell
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| Wild raccoons, empty lots where it used to be crack sales now quiet as tombs
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| 'Cept when the rats squeal, cats wail in heat
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| I circle back east, beg the beggar’s forgiveness
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| Got the correct directions in gibberish
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| Tolls diminish, desperate trolls abandon crumblin' bridges
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| Hot with the sickness, '96 Lexus LS on blocks in the yard
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| Rust fingers grip first floor burglar bars
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| Scarecrow stuffed with straw, stuffed and eyed them marked cars
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| (Keep 'em guessin')
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| Broke the door at First Baptist, played the pews like project benches
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| The light was beautiful streamin' through the broken entrance
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| PVC replaced the cadaver bones at the viewing
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| Cruel, played for fools, family never knew it
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| Jackals chasin' secrets through the ruins
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| Diseased tissue sold the planet and another human
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| Host body under influence, clueless
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| Big spoon, death loomin', tune in, trauma addled
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| Room was swollen with squall, the dream showed up on the wall and yous called
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| All in all, all in all, all in all
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| Projects on the beach, sandcastle instead of law
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| Trousers, high water table got three legs
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| First in the flood, mud mask, cup of blood
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| Just ask if you must |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Dead Cars , by - Armand Hammer. Song from the album Shrines, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп