| If a clown can bake a pie full of flies in his house today
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| And sell slimy slices for a fiver to a crowd of apes
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| Then I can fry an egg and call it God if I want to
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| Sunny side down, trodden, scoff it like its mangetout
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| Puke that straight up and shot it like a nine bar
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| Scoop the remains up and flog it like it’s fine art
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| It’s all in the name son, it’s all just the same young sir
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| Just words I’m contorting to shapes
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| Some days seem stranger than fiction can ever be
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| Especially when I’ve been yammin' trips with my breakfast tea
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| So I was like boom, what’s with the snake skin?
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| Better keep schtum, the Gods are deflating
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| That shoe for the mountains, views are astounding
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| Loose in the cloud where the monsters are waiting
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| Dead flesh fading, what’s that curling around my spine like hot crack burning
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| Swamp rat vermin emerging again
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| Better boot out now to return to the end, like rah
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| What a super-stellar par
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| View forever shrink into a single second
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| Misdirect 'em through the centre
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| Futures never happen like the maggots might like 'em to
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| One day you’re chewing wounds the next that’s what you’re obliged to do
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| If I were you I wouldn’t take it
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| Burn your allegiance, lie to their faces
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| Gather that up, slappin' that sludge on the skyline
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| Look man’s finally made it, high rise mazes
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| What’s that snaking around his tongue better watch man changing
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| Combat training, dead man dancing
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| Squash that craving, let’s get marching
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| It’s like my girl’s parallel parking
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| Shit’s never gonna fit so I squeeze in
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| Release from the belly of the beast
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| I be banging on my chest and you’d best to believe it
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| Swinging from the rooftop baby
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| Hanging out on the porch all evening
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| Bangin' on a big fat hootenanny
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| With a granny in the lap, lean all up in the cup like (Where?)
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| Smoke all in the (Air)
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| That’s the way I’m staying
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| Listen what I’m saying, day in day out we ain’t playing
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| They should weigh their options while they got em or get took apart
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| Man ain’t got no business looking hard you little pussyclart
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| All I wanna do is reel these bars off
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| Philly B on the beat man I pull it up
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| And you’d better be ready for the blast off
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| Me and Jam on the ting we put it up
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| So high I’ll be laughing my ass off
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| Looking down on the Earth like (is it?)
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| With a broke leg trying to get it cast off
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| Plus you don’t wanna blink you’ll (miss it)
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| My demographic is ecstasy mixed with acid
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| And a bit of psilocybin all crammed in one tablet
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| Raid your drinks cabinet, steal your mum’s jam jar
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| Go out on a drug-fueled frenzy filled with anger
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| Blame it on grandpa, you know what he’s like
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| Easy with a bag of weezy, sleazy on the peace pipe
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| Freezing on the beats like, they call it cold fronts
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| Stacking so much paper mate should get yourself a hole punch
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| And a bag of golf clubs
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| Long range when I get my pace on
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| Now they’re saying to get my skates on
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| What I’m saying is I care not for some paper with an old lady’s face on
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| Straight up, let me deal with the ting though
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| Wagwaan gringo chuckin' motherfuckers out the window
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| Rappers can’t deal with the lingo
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| Pulling out bars like nobody’s business, killing MC’s on the daily
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| Make a pig’s ear with a dog’s dinner when I come through
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| Make your whole crew go crazy
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| Make your old dear have a blue baby
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| It’s the LDZ fam, look it up
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| And you don’t wanna see my zoot turn shady
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| So it’s back to the book now, cook it up
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| Yeah, back to the book
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| Next chapter, land of the crooks
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| Trapped in the woods, I’m ascending
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| Bredren, who’s that gremlin stamping his foot, look
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| Watch and burn, get out the way man we want 'em first
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| All of the intricacies in my world all merge into one long constant verse
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| Slapped by a demon, I’m so high I can actually see them
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| It’s angling season, hook line sinker
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| I got them, now I gotta actually eat them
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| So when I say that blind faith is a bitch
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| Next man think I’m taking the piss
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| So I’ma just sit back shaking and shit, when really
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| All I wanna say to 'em is
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| If a clown can bake a pie full of vibes in his house today
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| And sell the grimmest ones for fifty nugs to a crowd of snakes
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| Then we can fry some eggs and call 'em gods if we want to
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| And serve 'em with a crown of thorns, swimming in some fondue |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Eggs, artist - Jam Baxter. Album song The Gruesome Features, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп