| Separate jams from your second rate fam
|
| When the renegade strands are forever laid crammed (where?)
|
| In the polythene pockets of a cellophane land
|
| Where the peasants stay prang (then what?), redefine your enemy (yeah)
|
| Stay hard headed like a Easter island effigy
|
| Staring out to sea beside a steaming pile of weaponry
|
| (weaponry)
|
| I feed the flies with a heap of primal energy
|
| You’re paedophiles essentially. |
| (erugh) obsessed with these fucking minors
|
| (what?)
|
| Drenched in a ton of dryness (what?), it’s fucking priceless (yeah)
|
| See I’ve never been a fame thirsty son of Midas (never)
|
| Just one of them straight dirty butters rhymers
|
| I tunnel skywards, the airs thick with their shit (yeah)
|
| And it ain’t even fair when my brehs spit
|
| So blare this, (yeah) from any speaker that can stand the pain
|
| Naive sets the track alight and I just fan the flames
|
| (Yeah, yeah. flame fanner Jay Backer)
|
| Listen. |
| yeah, yeah.
|
| See I’ve learnt from my family that sanities a fickle trickster (yep)
|
| So never bank on the galaxy to shrink to fit 'ya
|
| Take a snapshot of apathy and print the picture
|
| Pin it to this damp soggy tapestry of brick and timber
|
| This bitter world can sit and swirl on my middle finger
|
| (yeah) like a spinning pearl in the grip of winter
|
| Mister, mister, why’d you spit like
|
| A single drip of British piss clinging to a withered sphincter?
|
| Excuse the image. |
| I spat it in the name of truth (yeah)
|
| Brutal lyrics, hacking at your tapered roots
|
| I play the sabre tooth stranger in a lake of juice
|
| Raise the roof, got the place shaking like a traitors boots
|
| I’ve been making moves since we used to run with underlie
|
| Daktis the smackfish the gruesome one that loved to write
|
| Up at night perfecting the devils craft (yeah)
|
| Penning bars getting higher than my levels are
|
| Yeah. |
| I wonder what them dry brehs been doing lately
|
| They disappeared, like the nightmares that used to plague me (yep)
|
| I heard all your newest music an it’s super samey (standard)
|
| So I threw it in a juicer with a human baby
|
| And you thought you were crazy? |
| mans sick at rhyming (yeah)
|
| Yeah brag, brag, brag ad infinitum
|
| I span this horizon, handpicked to ripen
|
| And now I’m sitting by this riverside missing Brighton
|
| I bring a titan (what'd you call him?) made of scrap metal
|
| His scatty hands wrestle facts from collapsed rebels
|
| Cramped in a damp vessel, and when the sands settled
|
| Dash 'em back, chat your fraff, you ain’t that special
|
| (yeah) yeah but neither am I
|
| Just weaving the spines of evil into creachers that fly
|
| The fleet of the blind, feasting on a dream and a dry crumb
|
| Yeah. |
| I’m out, one |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song One , by - Jam Baxter. Song from the album Rinse Out Friday / Spack Out Monday, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп