Lyrics There He is - Dabbla

There He is

Yeah
3am I pour Henny
Lucky if I’m in bed for 4:20
It’s that feeling of not knowing
What’s keeping me going
Pinging around in the living room
Spilling your penny
My wives have got their knots tied
In a room full of balloon animals
Filled with nitrous oxide
That and lots of fucking fire dashed in the spotlights
The reason I’m not surprised they’re all boss-eyed and they’re lopsided
First place in the exaggerateathon
Half a dozen days later screaming «where the paper gone?»
(Where the paper gone?)
Took the pills without the label on
What a waste, kill it
Get the KC and the chaser on
Smear your brains inside these waves I’m cooking
Shit’ll have your eyeballs wondering which fucking way they’re looking
Put him in a cold metallic can and shook him
Nowadays you’re lucky if I take a booking
There he goes
All up in your bitch’s cleavage like a speedy boat
The bass hits and the thesis is a need to know
He’s on top of the world screaming «Bellissimo»
Standing in the field but the festival finished weeks ago
Still determined to get my shower on
Can’t think of nothing better to earn £1000 an hour from
It’s Dabbla in the motherfucking house without the power on
Boy
I’ll give you something to fucking talk about
What are you, some sort of behavioural expert?
Mistaking me for all my favourite excerpts (There he is)
There he is (There he is)
I’m not complaining
As long as my brain, my lungs, my dick, arms and my legs work
What are you, some kind of moody professional?
(You what?)
Chewing some shit that’s mildly digestible (What is that?)
I’m not complaining or straining, moaning or whining or whinging
My foot is finally in, you’re highly susceptible
With the lights off and his feet up
Getting right off of his peanut
Could’ve sworn his whole life’s been a write-off getting lean up
At least all of my rhymes drop when the beat’s cut
And at least I’m not
Rambling to Jesus
From the magnificent league of champion achievers
How my people bring this shit to your borders
Stamping your visas
Speaking Vietnamese better than these Vietmanese geezers now
Now
Now he’s deep in it and feverish
Plus all of my peoples is mad geezerish
Could’ve had the same but your family lacked leadership
Each three minute track’s a piece of my genius
(What else?)
Plus my penis is prehensile and tedious
And happy to deal with all the immediates
I rap about the shit that I feel
It’s real but it’s meaningless still (still)
Disagreeing and disobedient (Nah I’m not)
What are you, some sort of behavioural expert?
Mistaking me for all my favourite excerpts (There he is)
There he is (There he is)
I’m not complaining
As long as my brain, my lungs, my dick, arms and my legs work
What are you, some kind of moody professional?
(You sure?)
Chewing some shit that’s mildly digestible (What is that?)
I’m not complaining or straining, moaning or whining or whinging
My foot is finally in, you’re highly susceptible