Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Sepia, artist - Dirty Dike. Album song Bogies & Alcohol, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 04.07.2011
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: High Focus
Song language: English
Sepia |
| Dirty Dikestar |
| (2MSMB) |
| Contact Play |
| (Too many of them steep fuckin steps) |
| Steep fucking steps |
| Wha? |
| This is life mate try make it easier |
| I paint my eyeballs a light shade of sepia |
| I wake at nightfall five days a week |
| And I’m shite faced |
| My minds all sideways |
| I’m creeping at my pace |
| As white chalk lines frame the scene of the crime wave |
| Believing that time waits for each of yours blind faith |
| If your piece of the pie’s tastin' sweeter than mine |
| Mate, I’ll eat you as live bait! |
| 'Cos I tried to bust rough when I was needia |
| But never held it down like I suffered with bulemia |
| And now I’m fucking with a team full of freaks |
| And we’re soon to be a feast for the scum suckin' media |
| Dumb fuck |
| Your season of dumb luck is reaching a slump son |
| I mean it, I’m pumped up and greedier for fresh meat |
| I’m neck deep in the next beat |
| Head feenin' to get lean |
| Your featureless men speak as real as a wet dream |
| Its reek on your bed sheets |
| Asleep in the the steamiest sex scenes |
| My pen speaks for the people that get me |
| You get me ya pricks? |
| I’m just sweeping your mess clean |
| So peace to Dirty Dike and Hieronymus Bosh |
| Mr Key turns inside every lock that you got! |
| So what-what? |
| what what |
| Cause I see in sepia |
| Deep-deep in sepia |
| And I’mma stay creepier |
| Creepier! |
| Creepier! |
| Creepier than a meeting with Mr. A |
| Jam Baxter, Mr. Key and a bit of James |
| That’s me and we bring the vicious pain |
| A complete waste like a needle that’s missed the vein |
| So take a seat in my picture frame |
| As we flicker straight images |
| And speak in a bitter state |
| Pissed again and my room is a grubby mess |
| Stuck in debt stress |
| And there’s too many fucking steps! |
| I’m fucked up in bed late with my eyes closed |
| Soaking in my slow life of live shows |
| But Dike knows it’s a matter of time |
| Cause dope rhymes flow fatter than a map in the sky |
| Check it |
| There’s no hope til I happen to find |
| Guys joke with the habit of attacking a mic |
| My mind opens and widens with every line spoken |
| In silence I grow, stiff inside I lie frozen |
| I say «Hi» with a kiss when I’ve woken |
| Wishing my life will exist when I’m broken |
| Pisshead spokesman |
| Lenses in sepia |
| Creep through my deep-blue speech till I’m sleepier |
| I’ve got beef and never leave it alone |
| I vivisect rippers ripping fresh meat from the bone |
| SMB! |
| CP the throne |
| In sepia, Key’s a freak, in a league of his own |
| Creeping alone, deep in the sepia tone |
| To reach in a peak I speak till your speakers are blown |
| And police on the phone are telling me to shut the fuck up! |
| Keep on your toes or you’re coming unstuck |
| That’s, tough luck like scag in a pubfight |
| Scabs on my pus dried up from a rough night |
| Snuff white in a lab full of dustmites |
| Rags on the fuck mic |
| Rap till it bust tight |
| Shook, still racking my brains |
| As the crabs in my guts ravenous pains |
| Back in the days |
| I rapped like I’m shackled in chains |
| Now I’m bad like a tramp putting scag in his veins |
| That’s just a matter of a pattern of phrase |
| As the rats rampage in this cancerous age |
| I’m bad taste, mate, fuck keeping it crisp |
| I’m cheap like deep-fried pieces of shit! |
| So peace to Daze, Jam Backer and Bosh |
| And Dirty Dike’ll ride any slapper you’ve got |
| So what-what! |