Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Velvet Swamp, artist - Dead PlayersDate of issue: 11.08.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Velvet Swamp |
| Listen, Yo |
| I represent myself, ain’t one for telling tales |
| I puff a lot of L’s cause I love the way it smells |
| If you ask me it’s cool long as no one’s getting raped |
| But film it just in case cause that devil shit sells |
| Everything is digital, can’t afford a twelve |
| No one wants some CD sitting on the shelve |
| But if Gaga can sing about sucking man’s off |
| And JLS can sell sex to underage girls |
| Well, I’ma do my thing and chuck it in the mix |
| If you ain’t feeling it then you can suck a bag of dicks |
| Cause I’ve been using words so long they’ve lost meaning |
| You can find my life’s work scribbled cross the ceiling |
| And in the meantime who gets the lean in? |
| Scratching for that meaning, fuck about and catch it like a beating |
| Please be seated, MC’s are getting de-leted |
| Dabbla keep it gourmet fresh, your shits reheated |
| Keep sleeping on it, no one’s gonna prosper |
| Watch the way we come and bring a wallop to your roster |
| I creep upon you while you swallowing your Costa |
| Dead Players running shit from Holloway to Gloucester |
| Murder the imposter, for fronting like a mobster |
| Odds are you’ll be screaming like a boiling lobster |
| So what’s the fuss about, who the hell do you think you are? |
| Same deal, still the same guy, still pimping ‘ard |
| (Verse 2 — Jam Baxter) |
| I awake from the dream as a blurred mess |
| With my mouth still sore from screaming the word yes |
| Every time I was asked if I needed a next beverage |
| Or if the views cris from this mountain of dead Hedonists |
| Last one standing |
| My shredded flesh felt the wrath of every cloud and smog |
| And speck of powder on this stealth attack |
| I left them with a translucent Lucifer that held them back |
| Bitching ‘bout the rinse they weren’t welcome at |
| Peering through the key holes with small sacks of floundering skin |
| Throwing towel after towel in the ring |
| I’m on a lifelong cotch |
| Magnified white hot dots got the ants pranging out when the disguise washed off |
| Got my style on lock and cello taped to my face |
| Decorated and abled, the celebration awaits |
| With this whole city tangled in my beard |
| Weighing me down and my chins scraping the ground |
| Like a generation of snakes |
| A swap the spare screen that I keep deep in my gullet |
| For a glass of dry white and a three seater to summit |
| When it kicks off, I’m skiing off |
| Peace this evening |
| Swirling round the street lights, bruised up and bleeding |
| My fam’s still jamming, too spangled to run |
| With two legs in a ditch and these two tabs on my tongue |
| Repackage my brain and boot back to the slums |
| With a sign that reads decadence blue tacked to my gun |
| (Verse 3 — Dirty Dike) |
| I be that nicknamed, prick James |
| Came from the bridge, where the kids make mixtapes and paint when they’re pissed |
| In those shit stained kicks, getting chased by the pigs |
| Was my favourite shit from the days that we lived |
| What a place to exist, my heart lies in New Street |
| Ever since new pass, the past times have moved me |
| Our lives were boozy, maybe I’m just dreaming |
| Before I leave the club you’ll have to scrape me off the ceiling |
| I buy a car load of avocados |
| And roam about laughing in pyjamas and a bath robe |
| And at our shows you get a free dildo |
| And be thoroughly encouraged not to wear any real clothes |
| Just a hard hat, pair of the steel toes |
| Give my buzz back, you dare try and steal those |
| Eels, crows, cats, dogs, mice, rats, stick insects |
| I’ll put you in a pillow case and chuck you in the river next |
| Suffering from liver stress |
| Fuck it I’ve been nothing but a drunkard since I quit the breast |
| Love it, I be sucking it and fuck if any chicks impressed |
| A liquor heads, a liquor heads and I’m in love with cigarettes |
| I went to hell and back again |
| And still got arrested by the devil with my sack of paint |
| Racking straight massive great stripes up of crystal lines |
| Sinking as the bitter rise distance me I sympathise |
| (Verse 4 — Edward Scissortongue) |
| The carrots on my shoulders spitting monologue squalking |
| Why won’t my feathered friend just stop talking? |
| Jabbering about life’s stories, trying to live my thoughts |
| In the sentences I taught him |
| Bun the parrot, dash him out the driving seat |
| Flapping ‘bout redemption getting flattened by a JCB |
| This tar black tarmac sparks as the cars crash |
| Feathers flew skyward gracefully |
| I’ll throw nelly swerve under a low bridge |
| Plunder the piss stop, no body noticed |
| Spitting venom in this summer city solstice |
| Off to another city, gunning down these roads quick |
| It’s like these people fail to notice |
| The 8 track, brain trap, muzzles on their noses |
| Pummelling the toe clips, hammering the pedals |
| Power slide the hair pins, gunning for the medals |
| See you in the meadows, speaking til the sun set |
| Even if the evil gushing even wants to run red |
| Yo we run red lights like we want death |
| Running like a pussy at a street fight, dun said |
| This goes out to the wise men birds |
| With the packages of gold bars, frankincense and mur |
| Bun the camel, exchange it for a monolithic curse |
| And join us gunning to your city, drinking Whiskey as we swerve |