Lyrics Digits - Godemis, infO Gates

Digits

I’ve been watching opera hopping up around in here
Say whatever comes to mind it feels like I’m finna
Rearrange your brain like I was Doctor Mindbender
Dipping in the van that’s got the little round window
Why I’m up at this hour, I did it with a cup of joe
Keep a couple mason jars, I think that’s where the guts’ll go
Just because you paint your face you’re not a fucking juggalo
Cut off your tweetin fingers, cook 'em up in E-V-Double-O
We are here to entertain
Losers in the winner’s lane
People casting looks when I’m like «Dude I didn’t get a chance»
All I ever wanted was a shot and so I can’t complain
Cut us open plain and drew the inspiration from the pain
This is black magic, faggot, you cannot carry the flame
Hard to hold a candle standing in November Rain
Satisfy the Deevil even still some sort of temper came
Off hilter-kilter made his father fucking music strange
Well I am so high that I can finger fuck pigeons
Point your finger at me, your finger’s fucking missing
(Man listen, mind your manners get back can you dig it?
I’m a leave out this mother holding a bag full of digits)
Well I am so high, finger-fuck a pigeon
Point your finger at me, your finger’s fucking missing
(Man listen, micromanage get back can you dig it?
I’m a leave out this mother holding a bag full of digits
Dig it?)
What cause you not Ces, fuck this guy, huh?
Huh?!
I’m sipping liquor, sitting on this head of a decapitated rapper
While I write another chapter that’s full of murder and laughter
I was last spotted (where?)
At a hostel out in Berlin
German women with turbans bringing me bourbons
I’m secured inside, bulletproof curtains
Wearing a shirt, «That's nice», it’s made out of your skin
I got a hungry dog at home that eats turd nuggets
If I feed him fingers he eats them like «Sure fuck it»
So watch where y’all be pointing those at, seeking see
My family
Plan-A is a stampede
No plan-b
That means
Probably heading back to jail
I don’t really sweat it though, Gode says he’s got the bail
If not I flee the country, but first plant some evidence, (Where?)
In the house of the ex-president's residence
Hit a republican up with the right, throwing a left on the liberal
Hit 'em like Pitbull
Making it rain at his show
Let’s Go