| It’s the Mr. Melonskin
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| Sicker than he’s ever been
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| And this time your sister’s been slipping into bed with him
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| So is the bitch intelligent?
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| That shit’s irrelevant
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| He’s tickling her belly ring and whispering and staring in her
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| Eyes I think, but her thighs are nicer
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| And the half price cider is right inside
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| So it’s a tight decider, he lies right beside her
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| While his eyes shine white like there’s fire inside
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| A nice guy if he tried, he tries never kids
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| Negatives fly by his life like he’s never lived
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| So high, well ahead of spliffs
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| «Well enough of this»
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| Back to the muffin tits and a fat jug of piss
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| Fanny slap rubber lips
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| Gash fuck sucking shit
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| Love it bitch, what I need to twat and some oven chips
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| Sudden twitch, he’s cumming in your mother’s hips
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| Cuddling her under the covers when your husband jips
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| Off to work this office jerk lost his bird
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| Cause he got fucking tossed and burnt
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| So when the frost emerged, he lost his words, «What!»
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| And the cost of it shown in his posture curve
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| «So whats it worth?»
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| A half priced melonskin suit with a charlie supply through a medicine tube
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| Intelligence bruised and now he’s back in a sandstorm
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| And there’s no backing down from a casual mad thought
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| To smashing her back doors of animal slag whores
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| And come on man we all know that you’ve had yours
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| And thats why I’m sit tight in my melonskin
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| Separate me from the world that the devils in
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| The slumber of ketamine, but fun isn’t everything
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| Love isn’t wedding rings nor is it match made
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| Heavens in a sad game, destined to cascade
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| I just rap to express, but that’s lame
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| We get Marshall B-Clash, on a street dash
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| Self reclaimed relapse up on the weed hash
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| Whos back?
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| Scratch tracks like a heat rash
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| Hatch the sweet raps for the back packing anoraks
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| So just relax, wrap a ten sack of the greens
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| Smite, get smash worse then the Jeep crash
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| Three cacks, scallywags streak on the people in sea labs
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| Lean back, shoot swoops like Steve Nash
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| These facts, mind from the darkest of minds
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| My timeline times 9 equals awesome designs
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| Can’t find dark sides of the moon where I stride
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| Booze 'till I’m blind, abuse the white pigeons and pint
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| «It's alright»
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| I know I’m destined for the harshest demise
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| Like a meteorite piercing the sky and breaking my spine
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| My life reminds me daily of the stupidest sights
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| Like summer riding a bike down without any lights
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| Will cypher the size of great infamy
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| Follow the light, but finds the gods who got it in for me
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| From adulthood to infancy
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| Scrutinise the paragraphs until my fucking eyeballs bleed
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| Realign the symmetry with symphonies
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| Cause it’s the same old sentiment
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| Education of the evidence is irrelevant
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| Just beat the pestilence
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| Oh man I roll like a hell-a-bent elephant
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| With the four elements in
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| «It's evident»
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| Penguins in eloquence in my city scape
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| As the city wakes I’m on the rooftop spitting hate
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| Pretty patterns over gritty breaks
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| At a later day
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| Slip away like the hell
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| So sit and wait 'till you’re all in a silly state
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| Having dreamy days on your purple haze on a daze
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| Take a city break
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| Get away, chill, swim in lakes
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| Blissfully from the sickest grapes
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| It’s the craze
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| Just another sort of way to lose it
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| Loose lead movement
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| Loose, the tunes stupid
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| To me, frequently the mic’s like a rubix
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| That’s why I’m constantly lost in this monkey puzzle music
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| I say «It's the craziest, another sort of way to lose it»
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| Loose lead movement
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| Loose, the tunes stupid
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| To me, frequently the mic’s like a rubix
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| That’s why I’m constantly lost in this monkey puzzle music |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Strange Alias , by - Dirty Dike. Song from the album Bogies & Alcohol, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп