Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Toy Guns, artist - Deca. Date of issue: 24.08.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Toy Guns |
| Hold Up |
| What, W-w-what |
| One Two, One Two |
| What, W-w-what |
| One Two, One Two |
| (come on) |
| What, W-w-what |
| One Two One Two |
| (Uh-huh) |
| What, W-w-what |
| One Two One Two |
| (come on) |
| You cannot pick my brain, you little lame |
| Lame brains bitch and complain about how the game changed |
| I take aim, click bang, ritual slaying |
| While the physical world hangs by an invisible string |
| I’ve got silver bullets for the soulless |
| I’ll turn a murder into pop art |
| It’s all showbizz |
| He topped the charts with a smash hit |
| 27 club at age 26 |
| Made a cool mil and split the money with his honey dip |
| Folks said «that's a sucker for love, a chump» |
| But when they said it to his face he pulled the pistol grip, pump |
| You’re no hustler 'cause you sold a couple grams of blow |
| Little errand boys acting like they ran the show |
| As for me, I’m not hard at all |
| Won some, lost some |
| And got numbed up whenever looking for a problem |
| I don’t play make believe |
| But some days my imagination runs away with me |
| Everything from A to Z |
| Agency boys, cops, detectives |
| Ex-feds, gangsters, hare-brained introspectives |
| Jibberish for kicks, limericks, masons |
| Nations overrun by politicians, quote and revelations |
| Strange times underway |
| Xenophobes, yahoots and zealots |
| With automatics guns and battle helmets |
| Holy warriors full metal geared up |
| The virgin Mary’s leaking everglades of DNA from her tear ducts |
| But you cannot pick my brain, you freaking lame |
| (Uh-uh, nope) |
| You see, you cannot pick my brain |
| (what) |
| (come on) |
| You cannot pick my brain you fucking lame |
| Uh, it can’t be done |
| (yeah) |
| You cannot pick my brain |
| It’s under lock and key |
| Deca One’s brandishing a cap gun |
| And exhaling cumulus clouds through a polluted pair of black lungs |
| Aiming at Death Stars and planets for thrills |
| The pen game is outstanding, outlandishly ill |
| I’m looking for a new world to call home |
| Beyond the veil of tears |
| Lounging in the hotel room |
| Sipping Belvedere |
| You cannot pick my brain |
| You little lame’s got big heads and frail ego’s |
| Let me reload |
| Twist that, sit back, relax |
| Catch your contact |
| It’s just another bomb sack |
| I burnt like it was Compact Disc |
| Flick the ash, take another sip |
| Mix and match |
| I mix down the track and listen back before I hit the sack |
| I’ve got plans to do big things for if you follow |
| I’ve been nice since I was knee-high to a koala |
| I’m bringing out the big guns at high noon |
| So cup a chanson with the dead George Washington on iTunes |
| You cannot pick my brain, you freaking lame |
| (Yeah) |
| You see, you cannot pick my brain |
| (nope) |
| Uh, it can’t be done |
| You cannot pick my brain |
| (Uh-huh) |
| You see, you cannot pick my brain, you freaking lame |