| This is my self portrait
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| Wrapped up warm in my north-face
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| Gliding through storms and doorways
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| And rhyme 'til my jaw breaks
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| Sure mate a vision of me
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| With the television smashed and the sizzling beef
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| And I’m steady living, trapped in the rhythm and beat
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| And my head is spinning, smacked out hitting the weed
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| And I guess it isn’t bad if it helps me adjust
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| But I’ll tell you it’s mad when it dwells in my trust
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| And affect it, and that’s a lesson mate use it
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| Seems that I have to be depressed to make music
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| Unless my face cubic, I’ll break out the surface
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| Never played stupid, my guessing games worthless
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| As I step on the wetter rain dirt
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| Its a lot more certain I never played her kid
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| One step ahead of my definite loss
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| Trying to fight my battles but the weapon is blocked
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| Am I ever going to be the main game or a weather turner
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| Never going to be my own brain or a clever learner
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| I’ll pedal further to make heads turn
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| I’m hooked like a maggot or a baked dead worm
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| So is this hatred, happiness all maybe fake
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| Confused by my life but I play the game
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| And stay the same insane in my crazy brain
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| And paint my name on walls to claim the fame --
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| It’s plainly lame
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| I can’t find the reflection, the puddle’s been clouded
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| Blind from deception, another kid frowning
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| Why must I step with the rubble and the sand dunes
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| My mind seems fucked from the trouble and the bad news
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| My dad used to say to keep sane; |
| keep up James and don’t live the clean way
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| But he’s blatantly strange, faking his ways
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| From a crazy age I saw him pacing away
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| Chasing the pathways, lost with the lights out
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| Raving with class mates, cost of a life now
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| The lessons learnt from the freshly burned victim
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| I once beat a kid to the ground then I kicked him
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| Switch the sickness to friends and favours
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| Strong as a shield as I bend your sabres
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| Free from the jail, the dark and dark fader
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| Tarnish my past, live fast and laugh later
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| This is dark, my answers scarce paper
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| Gassed in the last chamber, enhance my hearts neighbour
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| But thats my soul or my brain, or the golden maze of my swollen veins
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| Or my body parts drenched in the rain as the lorries pass
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| Motorways stain fake like a bobbies mask
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| Got to pass this rap in a sore state
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| I’d love to be free but I’m trapped in my portrait |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Self Portrait , by - Dirty Dike. Song from the album Bogies & Alcohol, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп