Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ego Death, artist - Busdriver. Album song Perfect Hair, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 07.09.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Big Dada
Song language: English
Ego Death |
| Under the cellulite laden thigh of the night |
| I slip miniature mantras between my cries and gripes |
| Jewel-flavored crystals in the red, blue, and white stripes |
| While crowds throw numbers at me like The Price is Right |
| And downtime is never met with an overjoyed grin |
| Cause sleep and death have always been conjoined twins |
| You’d rather lick the red gills of pop art |
| Than your cement-filled pock marks |
| The withering tendrils from my wrought heart |
| Reach for a Benadryl like it was a lost ark |
| Cause my average day is for the body of aegis, they’re prompting these sieges |
| We cry to these seniors, living inside of splotchy Adidas |
| Serving consecutive sentences |
| My corrective lenses is ruby quartz |
| Yet my vision ain’t worth a jiggling of booty warts |
| Circumstances trap writers like Kathy Bates |
| Under a decolorized happy face |
| So my car ain’t covered in candy paint |
| But still the nanny state can’t fix the diaper rash |
| I’m pinging this on a cyber cast |
| Questioning news items playing pattycake with Ira Glass |
| The fact that this pony show’s racist |
| Stirs the colloquial cake mix and charges the homeostasis |
| Of all the homies who await us like we some Smokin' Joe Fraziers |
| But my unchecked whining’s like some ceremonial plate shift |
| We can make this better, but we’re not, yes we will |
| We’re just looking for something inside us to kill |
| We can make this better, but we’re not, yes we will |
| We’re just looking for something inside us to kill |
| We can make this better, but we’re not, yes we will |
| We’re just looking for something inside us to kill |
| We can make this better |
| Before long, boil the bones |
| A little celery chop |
| A little pepper, a little milk of the poppy |
| Little posse in effect |
| Analog mono-poly Man’o’War |
| Walloping the auto-poly avatar |
| Mind on his Mallomars |
| Money on the iron lung |
| Clumsy with the can of worms |
| Usher you behind the sun |
| He shoots he whores, truly stupid troubadours and elders |
| Stock the shelter with frijoles and blueberry New York Seltzers |
| Roll up in a pa-diddle like a doofus |
| Hit the corner like the devil is a cubist |
| I’m ruthless, the sigil is dog with a cone, feeling foolish |
| Seven hells calling all foreseeable futures |
| Be it obtained culprit |
| Crippling migraine and strange stomach |
| Or a stray bullet through his gray mullet |
| I am ivy up the god damn lattice |
| March to the math rock |
| Raw, no cartoon mascot |
| The Mario pajama bottoms clumsily rappelling |
| Under a gibbous moon |
| Hunting for shitty food |
| Gunning, too tough, embedded in bad magic |
| Duckboy, shit is quacktastic |
| We can make this better, but we’re not, yes we will |
| We’re just looking for something inside us to kill |
| We can make this better, but we’re not, yes we will |
| We’re just looking for something inside us to kill |
| I’m not done yet |
| I’m not done yet |
| I’m not done yet |
| I’m not done yet |
| We can make this better, but we’re not, yes we will |
| We’re just looking for something inside us to kill |
| Rap Marilyn Manson, about as hot as a Vanson |
| With two hoodies on the beach with two bitches crump dancin' |
| Rappers put your bets in, last man standin' |
| Bars hit so hard you ricochet off the planet |
| The motherfucking hybrid, tell Miley Cyrus text me |
| When I holler to her private I’m tryna get them privates |
| Parts, don’t start, take heart like Kano |
| Remember when I told to you niggas drink all the Dran-o |
| Pop all the pills, take all the lines |
| Chop through a window with some sawblade blinds |
| Back on that shit, guess what this time? |
| Half a stick of dynamite where the sun don’t shine |
| Any nigga disrespecting, chin check 'em 'til he’s slinky-neck |
| Blowing dope, eyes low and chinky like I’m Mannie Fresh |
| Countdown to extinction, no nigga not Megadeth |
| So many dead rappers, can’t even take baby steps |
| Walking over carcasses of artists in my garden |
| Been nice with this shit since Nas was writin' past the margin |
| Any nigga wanna start it, I fuckin' beg your pardon |
| I’m with arson, I’m the firestarter; |
| Prodigy invent the art |
| Smack my bitch up in the mouth with my dick |
| And it’s not domestic violence cause she likes that shit |
| There’s no sentence to describe it, homie |
| Except she sucked it like her fucking life depended on it |
| We can make this better, but we’re not, yes we will |
| We’re just looking for something inside us to kill |
| We can make this better, but we’re not, yes we will |
| We’re just looking for something inside us to kill |
| We can make this better, but we’re not, yes we will |
| We’re just looking for something inside us to kill |
| We can make this better |
| Aes Rizzo ain’t got that perfect hair |
| Danny Brown ain’t got that perfect hair |
| Driver ain’t got that perfect hair |
| Jeremiah Jae ain’t got that perfect hair |