Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Civilized , by - Cult of The Damned. Release date: 15.02.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Civilized |
| I been waiting at the top for you, where you been? |
| x 4 |
| First on the scene, bang, through the door |
| The gun, the badge, a rogue cop with no support |
| And I’m supposed to hold the fort? |
| Now hold that thought, hold the phone |
| There’s no one home, I’m here, I’m all alone |
| And I been waiting at the top for you, where you been? |
| I radioed in, an hour ago, I radioed in |
| Maybe it’s him, maybe it’s me, maybe I’m losing it |
| Now where could they be, wait for the WOO, the sound of the music in |
| Yo, it all started rather civilised |
| Cheeky little pint |
| Five minutes later, swigging whisky with my eyes, plural |
| Coordinated when I smoke and drink something purple |
| Cut the Persil, to push at Churchills, it’s nothing personal |
| Yo, it’s strong shit |
| That’s why it burns your nose |
| Nobody laugh 'cos, uh, everybody’s gotta blag |
| To stab more cash and get trollied on the razz |
| And bankroll hash |
| Just to show I got a bit of class, I mix the Frosty’s with the yak |
| Fuck popping bottles for these slags |
| If you’re anything like me, you’re obviously smashed |
| You lot aren’t get Ps like many riches |
| You lot are getting Ps like R Kelly’s bitches |
| I’m telling kiddas your clique is ten a penny |
| We’re merry Henny drinkers |
| Don’t ask questions, that’s brick peli peli business |
| MC’s bezzies with plenty sisters |
| Cos I’m a smooth talking cat, like a friend of Lister’s |
| Talking the swegg-est |
| Sporting the fresh-est |
| Nautica NS |
| '83, don’t play with me |
| Cold saggin' absinthe shots |
| Scrap with plod |
| Leave for half a job |
| Bobbing, land of nod slap his fod |
| Bill Shakes, twisted face |
| Been awake 60 days, didn’t flake |
| Stack me dinner plate Christmas day |
| Kill it straight |
| Drunk, scruffy |
| Spend drug money on butties and munchies |
| Vodka caner |
| Cosmic vapour blazer |
| Pass it like a hot potato |
| It’s a good day for the night |
| Looking like I just woke up, 'cos I just woke up |
| 5pm, I dream meself alive again |
| Find me zen |
| Vodka in me Berocca |
| Exposing meself like Ziggy Sobotka |
| Kicking your crown chakra off your head |
| Off me head |
| Took the bread and the chocolate spread |
| Then left it on the side for the flies |
| Pour some liquor out for the untimely demise of the vibe |
| Comfortably sad, I run in your pad |
| Eat the big piece of chicken and nuggy your dad |
| Lad, me first words were 'what's happening, laaa?' |
| I’m the greatest of all time, ask me Ma |
| I went round the corner, to see if Trouble’s home |
| Smoke weed and watch cartoons on Crunchyroll |
| I hope the girls I treated bad still love me loads |
| 'Cos I tried to give a fuck but I couldn’t though |
| 22, I done over a hundred shows |
| Didn’t have any merch, I just hussled dope |
| Promoters trying not to pay, the days I had nothing sold |
| But I always got my money though |
| I was a kid back then and now I’m fully grown |
| My journey gonna be one of the greatest stories told |
| I’m sweet |
| Black on them white like Oreos |
| Drugs, money, women |
| Swear it’s like all I know |
| I’m on a B-M B-M-T |
| With your BMs B-M-T |
| Send a DM on DMT |
| Russian' in my blood like a vodka shot |
| Drinking molatov cocktails on the rocks |
| My mood’s on and off, like a light switch |
| On and off |
| In the coffee shop, nodding off |
| I need to draw the line like dot to dot |
| Cup full of cosmic slop, Funk Doctor Spock |
| Let it begin, Under the Bed it begun |
| You do the talk when I walk |
| We get it said and it’s done |
| We get it said and it’s done |
| Devil Gang on my neck |
| I went to Hell just for fun |
| Do these gally got ask me why I always talk in grease, Slum |
| Told her 'shut that noise, slut, I’ll making them fucking knees burn' |
| Got big body bitches, bit of beagle and some cheap rum |
| And what’s that about the Swamp? |
| Yo nigga get your head fried |
| Try to oppose the squad, vacated as the dead type |
| Just stick around for pussy potent pounds |
| They call me Young Macbeth |
| Wear your blood all on my hands and my back, woah |
| Everytime we shut the venue down |
| Yeah your shit, blood |
| Man can taste my pubies in her mouth |
| Nigga get dough, 'fore you try to understand what we’re about |
| Sacrifice it to the cult |
| I take it and return you now |
| Yo, in my mind, there’s too many dead cells |
| I’mma stick to being dead, 'cos being dead sells |
| Sniff two lines and my chest swells |
| You know what, I guessed well |
| Might send a card saying 'get well' |
| Or I might send a call saying 'fetch Trell' |
| Find me in a bar where the sex smells |
| Been a hot minute since I left Hell |
| Yeah well, Hilfiger X-L |
| No regrets but the debt dwells |
| Yo, this one here a game changer |
| Two Stellas, hit bae with a haymaker |
| I been waiting at the top for you, where you been? |
| I been waiting at the top for you, where you been? |
| I been waiting at the top for you, where you been? |
| I been waiting at the top for you, where you been? |