| Yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah…
|
| You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me…' bout me
|
| Worry ‘bout me…
|
| Haven’t gotta worry ‘bout me. |
| about me. |
| About me
|
| Except when I’m doing some fucked up shit
|
| Yo. |
| These wasted summer nights are our perennial achievements
|
| I offer Viking burials at sea at your convenience
|
| Peace… Peace… I’ll catch you in Valhalla
|
| Roll on stage neck a jug of gin and shout at ya
|
| Out flank ya… Pincer movements
|
| Features looking like your malnourished children drew them
|
| And you wonder why you’re disillusioned?
|
| Maybe you’re just terrified of dying as a wrinkled human?
|
| I ain’t gunna move an inch I’m lounging
|
| Raid the fridge with telescopic arms, Dhalsim
|
| Catch me in the Adriatic drowning
|
| Scuba dive through my life in rotten terrace housing
|
| I am not tied, glued or cable tied to anything
|
| Fuck the weak adhesive you weasels are peddling
|
| I could fill a canyon with the dead weight I’m severing
|
| Throbbing veins coursing with Adrenalin
|
| I ride an old dune buggy with the slashed breaks
|
| Ridding shotty with a gash clad in black lace
|
| Perform at the apocalypse, back stage
|
| Jesus on a cello and the devil playing slap bass
|
| Yeah… Demon on a tambourine
|
| Arms like tentacles sculpted out of Plasticine
|
| …and I’m still doing dirt
|
| So you must be fucking tripping if you think my grubby hands are clean
|
| Another week another relapse… yeah
|
| But you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me…
|
| So save me your bullet point feedback. |
| save it
|
| I clocked how to juggle that G
|
| Yeah… you man be crippling our organs… standard
|
| But you ain’t got to worry ‘bout us
|
| Still bulletproof villains living lawless. |
| Lawless
|
| We still shut it down cuz…
|
| Look. |
| Yeah. |
| I’ve seen what these needle do
|
| That’s why I never touched them. |
| Never need to
|
| Let alone lend you man a tenner
|
| On a 2 AM stairwell buried in forever
|
| Yeah. |
| I hope you found peace finally
|
| I hope you’re off the ban. |
| I understand why you lied to me
|
| But last month I barely moved three meters
|
| Sat at yard belling beak dealers, oh the irony
|
| Anyway… fuck this sentimental shit
|
| Still a stir crazy, reckless Henny necking hedonist
|
| Still the gold medallist…
|
| I keep fifty six weighing down my neck cuz it’s decorative
|
| I slip the ribbons in a heart and hand them all
|
| Straight to these curvy, dirty, stop outs I haven’t called
|
| Yeah… me and her used to fuck a lot
|
| Yeah… But now I’ve got her number blocked
|
| It’s funny how your bredrins turn their back on you
|
| Just cuz there’s some freezing clod shit your try’na battle through
|
| I thought you of all people understood
|
| I’d back you if the Air Max 1 was on the other foot
|
| In the dark nights the fireflies cower
|
| Your ever jealous eyes cry an icy white shower
|
| Sour… but shits bless
|
| I ain’t shed a solitary tear since that bitch left
|
| Another week another relapse…
|
| But you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me… nah
|
| So save me your bullet point feedback. |
| save that
|
| I clocked how to juggle that G
|
| Yeah… you man be crippling our organs… organs
|
| But you ain’t got to worry ‘bout us. |
| About us
|
| Still bulletproof villains living lawless
|
| Yeah we still shut it down cuz…
|
| Yeah yeah… that was you. |
| Ha |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bulletproof, artist - Jam Baxter. Album song Mansion 38, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп