| The Dub Pistols control this shit
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| Blade is the vocalist, this is the year of the apocalypse
|
| Miles away and we can still see the metropolis
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| Disappearing slowly into the distance there’s no stopping this
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| Cruising at a leisurely pace as we breeze past the stars
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| And travel through the Milky Way
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| We glide through the air, trekking at the speed of light
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| We’re on a trip to space where the average man 'ain't been
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| The ground is flooded with rain to keep the Earth clean
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| We communicate through radio waves
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| While the controllers of the ship are seeing sights that amaze
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| Searching on corners of the Milky Way and galaxy
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| You won’t believe the types of things that we were forced to see
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| Wait for the sattelites, wet your appetites
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| From the distance we see the sun and it’s a ball of light
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| You need a microscope to see the Earth even exists
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| And it feels like we’ve been suspended in space for years
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| Nothing to do but think and wonder what we’ll see when we land
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| Could this be the missing link in the bigger plan
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| The Dub Pistols control this shit
|
| Blade is the vocalist, this is the year of the apocalypse
|
| Miles away and we can still see the metropolis
|
| Disappearing slowly into the distance there’s no stopping this
|
| Cruising at a leisurely pace as we breeze past the stars
|
| And travel through the Milky Way
|
| We glide through the air, trekking at the speed of light
|
| Rhymes on tapes mics turn them into space flights
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| Aerodynamics fly frantic with the Blade, right
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| Pushing orbital in a low tech, cruising tight
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| Pictures sneaking by from the glare of the computer lights
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| Should have bought a thinner window but spent it all on endo
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| From the dude at the last stop with three eyes in a flat top
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| Wanted for smuggling and illegal space craft
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| Don’t know if we’ll ever make it back now we’re off track being chased by
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| patrols
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| Pull it together, hands back on the controls
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| Tailspins and barrel rolls out of narrow spaces
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| To the center of a meteor, they can no longer trace us
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| The Dub Pistols control this shit
|
| Blade is the vocalist, this is the year of the apocalypse
|
| Miles away and we can still see the metropolis
|
| Disappearing slowly into the distance there’s no stopping this
|
| Cruising at a leisurely pace as we breeze past the stars
|
| And travel through the Milky Way
|
| We glide through the air, trekking at the speed of light
|
| They educated us and even taught us how to breathe
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| Gave us the diet of the food that we would have to eat
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| Stick to the rations, never know what could happen
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| Run out of fuel and you might never get back in (word up)
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| Three humans in the space of five meters squared
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| Dressed in space suits attached to canisters of air
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| Alien lifeforms could possibly be a threat
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| If that’s the case push the button and eject
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| They could be hostile, worse than on the X-Files
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| Don’t try to talk to them, they don’t talk back that 'ain't their style
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| Dont' be a hero, this 'ain't a move and you 'ain't De Niro
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| Don’t try to test them because if you do you’ll be gone in zero
|
| The Dub Pistols control this shit
|
| Blade is the vocalist, this is the year of the apocalypse
|
| Miles away and we can still see the metropolis
|
| Disappearing slowly into the distance there’s no stopping this
|
| Cruising at a leisurely pace as we breeze past the stars
|
| And travel through the Milky Way
|
| We glide through the air, trekking at the speed of light |