| I’ve got this
|
| I’ve got this
|
| I’ve got this
|
| I’m slowly roasting under the solar rays
|
| Been stuck in this hole for days
|
| What virtuoso made the oh-so great proposal
|
| Of drones with blades
|
| Hey, don’t separate my nose and face
|
| My looks will go to waste
|
| I was low a moment ago
|
| But pain’s a way to motivate
|
| I don’t suppose they’ll float away
|
| So I’ll make a new way to negotiate
|
| I, turn over the page with no delay
|
| I’m my own protege
|
| I’m a dark soul with two hard shoulders
|
| Known as the motorway
|
| So don’t you dare overtake
|
| Or you’ll need a new coat of paint
|
| Severing extremities is a clever method
|
| We use to lose a load of weight
|
| Your tech’s like your culture:
|
| Free for me to go and appropriate
|
| Those flows provoke debate
|
| Blowing up at an explosive rate
|
| So debased I won’t associate with you
|
| You’re overrated
|
| I’d prefer to go on a date
|
| With a moldy plate of roast potatoes
|
| Craving so voracious I could float in space
|
| And won’t be weightless
|
| How the heck did I get so big?
|
| Sticking tech to my exo rig
|
| But it’s never sufficient
|
| I’m already getting ready for the next growth
|
| So let’s go dig
|
| Never mind the gods and their schemes
|
| We are the cogs in their machine
|
| The wildest fighting dogs you’ve ever seen
|
| Blood
|
| Petrol
|
| Metal
|
| Sweat and dreams
|
| Adapt to stress, disaster
|
| Like a committed method actor
|
| No happy ever after
|
| A vicious metal raptor
|
| With the extra X factor
|
| Collecting tech scrap for
|
| The aptitudes I have to yet master
|
| Get faster
|
| Test, you’ll get your neck snapped
|
| So It’s messed up like It’s Glen Baxter’s sketchpad
|
| That’s drenched in alphabet pasta
|
| Sepp blatter
|
| Deceptive bastard
|
| Fully fledged engine of vengeful havoc
|
| A tragic ending’s pending
|
| When you’re a drunk trying to enter traffic
|
| Shrapnel spins severed limbs
|
| Liquidating everything
|
| From megaliths
|
| To insignificant details we see the devil in
|
| We go to the CREO party
|
| Dismantle the demonarchy
|
| Don’t start when you can’t complete
|
| Or your arteries will receive no heartbeat
|
| Never mind the gods and their schemes
|
| We are the cogs in their machine
|
| The wildest fighting dogs you’ve ever seen
|
| Blood
|
| Petrol
|
| Metal
|
| Sweat and dreams
|
| I’ve got this
|
| Someone call a doctor
|
| I’ve got this
|
| Doctor, I’ve got this urge
|
| But I’m lost for words
|
| Feel like I’m on the verge of popping off
|
| Do not disturb
|
| Call off the search
|
| I’ve lost my nerve
|
| Giving you just desserts
|
| I’m kicking you off of the kerb
|
| My golly gosh, that must have hurt
|
| (Never mind!)
|
| Never mind the gods and their schemes
|
| We are the cogs in their machine
|
| The wildest fighting dogs you’ve ever seen
|
| Blood
|
| Petrol
|
| Metal
|
| Sweat and dreams |