Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Cardio , by - Dabbla. Release date: 02.02.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Cardio |
| You have no idea how much I hate all of you right now |
| Every single one of you |
| Yeah |
| Alright, listen up everybody, listen up please |
| We’ve got a lot of work to do |
| We don’t have much time |
| Fuck me it’s cold |
| So let’s get started, please |
| Sounds of the DJ Frosty |
| Chapsville motherbitches |
| Banging on the doors of insanity |
| Screaming through the letterbox |
| «I know you’re fucking in there» |
| B-B-Banging on the doors of insanity |
| Screaming through the letterbox |
| «I know you’re fucking in there» |
| Banging on the doors of insanity |
| Screaming through the letterbox |
| «I know you’re fucking in--» |
| So whyn’t you come and face me like a man? |
| Bitch |
| Dabbla pull the fabric apart to the last stitch |
| You might just catch a passing remark when I start switching |
| You little fanny farts will get dashed in a dark ditch |
| In a spasm of large… fits |
| Extra sensory |
| wishes somebody would steal my identity |
| (Who the fuck are you?) |
| It’s not the way it’s meant to be |
| Incidentally, we been blowing up fundamentally |
| You’ll never compromise my artistic integrity |
| So you can kindly go fuck yourself and don’t mention me |
| (Fuck you) |
| Hope you choke on your own diplomacy |
| Nah, I’m glad that we’ve spoken about this openly |
| Holy crackamoly, we stacking the pony |
| Smoking on that killer |
| Spill a bit of liquor for my homie |
| Don Piper, motherfucker |
| DJ Frosty |
| Hashtag Chapsville |
| Chapsville Tennessee |
| Michigan, Detroit, Illinois, Kansas, Dakota, Iowa |
| (England) |
| Illinois |
| Paranoid, delusional, schizophrenic |
| Starter pistol at the roof of the mouth about to end it |
| On a Tuesday |
| Mix the acid with a dash of desmond |
| And learnt more than I could ever from a dodgy reverend |
| When I emerge have the floors swept and the urns out |
| Took a purge on the doorstep of your bird’s house |
| (Eurgh) |
| Don’t ever fucking try and judge me |
| Without doing a day’s graft in your life, probably |
| Without finishing one thing that you try properly |
| And I ain’t even started with making you sick and tired of me |
| Get used to my bad breath |
| And count your blessings over what little you have left |
| And stop mildling over the middle of my verse |
| And start putting in the work of your status and sad rep |
| Your peen, last seen flying in the lotus |
| With a semi and a remi and a pair of white loafers |
| I don’t know |
| What I do, is it art? |
| I don’t know… what it is |
| I don’t know, I think it’s all crap really |
| Total bullshit |
| Seriously, it’s depressing as hell |
| I don’t know if I’m a genius |
| I think you know, and I know, what it is that I do |
| I’m a fucking dancing squirrel |
| I’m no artist, I’m a chimp |
| Anyway, anyway |
| Anyway anyway |