Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Castles, artist - CunninLynguists. Album song Strange Journey Volume Three, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.03.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Bad Taste
Song language: English
Castles |
Oh, yeah |
(«You will fall, the castles you keep») |
It’s time they come down—down |
«—castle we will keep» |
«Clean them, sell them» |
«His castle we will keep» |
«Clean them, sell them» |
«His castle we will keep» |
«Clean them, sell them» |
«His castle we will keep |
We will sleep» |
He said, «Fuck sobriety, death to the worker bees» |
Thirteen circles I’ve stepped for eternity |
Burning purple, stressed on a murder spree |
It’s self-inflicted, don’t get it twisted |
These knives in my back now, Elliott Smith (yeah) |
Rides in the background, melodies fit (yeah) |
Mixed with the misfits, fixes the hurt |
When the lips that I kiss with press to the dirt |
French-kiss vixens, distant and cursed |
Burned bridges occurred from scriptin' my words |
Word, so I’ll chisel a verse |
On these lie-filled halls that I’ve lived in and searched |
I’m still lost in a head of catacombs |
Cause I build walls like I’m Edgar Allan Poe |
I’ve killed off every damsel that I know |
For castles that I keep, castles that I know |
«—castle we will keep» |
«Clean them, sell them» |
«His castle we will keep» |
«Clean them, sell them» |
«His castle we will keep» |
«Clean them, sell them» |
«His castle we will keep |
We will sleep» |
I’m having spirits in the dark, laying under moonlight |
Laughing with a stranger, like I saved her from her doomed life |
Pop a couple Percs, a perk of anonymity |
Trapped within a curse that I created with my energy |
A path that I rehearse, a cycle on repeat |
Life is like a lion and I’m dying at its feet |
I roll another sweet, check my muted Treo |
I’ve seemed to miss the plot, too busy caught up in the B-roll |
My eye up to the keyhole, scared to turn the knob |
And go out on my own, instead I blend in with the mob, my |
Memory bank’s the only thing I tend to rob |
And every time I phone the lob, I’m out of dodge |
It’s hard, on the boulevard, and other clichés |
The type of bullshit that I’m feeding self these days |
Corrosion on my relays, one thing my mirrors chose |
An imp in new clothes, exposed |
«—castle we will keep» |
«Clean them, sell them» |
«His castle we will keep» |
«Clean them, sell them» |
«His castle we will keep» |
«Clean them, sell them» |
«His castle we will keep |
We will sleep» |
I mow a dead lawn, aim for the alpha |
Ten claws deck the halls of Valhalla |
Not a man, a receptacle for crest-fallen matter |
Never tempered or pressed into patterns |
But just won’t die, instead a palpitation from the plasma |
Pumping disenchanting anecdotes and antiquated data at 'em |
I get these headaches that climb down into my stomach |
Then off into my extremities and out into the public |
In a flood of shadow puppetry, something in the air |
Got a tiny pool of energy becoming self-aware |
It’s recognizing family and alphanumeric characters |
Scenery and deities with unassuming avatars |
Close encounters exacerbate his condition |
From classy to a bastion of classic misdirection |
Tune into the Casio adventures |
When the rest of me can barely form a god-damn sentence |
«—castle we will keep» |
«Clean them, sell them» |
«His castle we will keep» |
«Clean them, sell them» |
«His castle we will keep» |
«Clean them, sell them» |
«His castle we will keep |
We will sleep» |