Lyrics Pipe Smoke - Jam Baxter, Ed Scissor

Pipe Smoke

Come on man
Yeah
Come on.
Shhhh
Trials of a burnt tongue dragged through a slalom of fresh chilli
Skull-fucking the scale model of a dead city
He gets busy in a big bag of rabbits feet
Lucky fuck’s skating through his life on a satin sheet
Acid freak sapping skies dry with his jagged teeth
Bite down on your Marx prize for the fattest leech
Pick a winner, weak stomach splattered on a ragged street
And fuck it, look, I figure
If a sick obese gold nugget hugging worm waddling
Can snatch the future out of the mouth of a serf grovelling
Then I’m allowed to bounce to his house in a hearse vomiting
And reward him his masters in sparkling, and in turd polishing
It’s basic, presenting a new face of snake venom
Pre-stripped the skin and rolled neatly through his strange heaven
The grave beckons, man this shit’s nasty
All I see is sobbing sock-puppets at a kid’s party
Sit calmly, the air’s sweating danger
Welcome to pick your own parachute failure
Free fall face up, see you in the crater
I guess I’ll check the playback later
Ready with the boiling oil buckets for the genius that builds stilts
To wade through the ill-timed tears and the spilt milk
«Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill.»
Yeah that’s what they all say
Especially the stubborn apparitions in my doorway
No warm taste of my world, never gets old
Like the kid flinging heat rocks can never get cold
So I tell 'em «Lets's roll.»
Holes in my torn attire
Sat head-butting a sand sculpture of a wall of fire
Walk the wire, blindfold.
Shouldering a screaming pig
That never stops bleeding in the freezer mist
(What) I wonder why them man are looking so proud
When this town’s becoming like a… ghost town
Walk out the yard, string and tired to the moon
See me swing through the city, through the spiralling fumes
Past high minds binding, designing their tombs
As they’re pulling up a tangle of wires from their wombs
Scissor
Yeah, Yeah, oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo
Scissortongue, my blade runner, half me and half you
Phantasmagorical dark tunes to pass through.
Pass the start that part seas and
part stews
Brains tapped in more ways than Roy Castle’s dance shoes
Part two, the doppelgänger, grammar sicker than a back-alley dentist smashing
out your teeth with a rusty hammer
Smash.
Smash
Mind trapped in this time-capsule time-lapse, side-tracked by the wide cracks
in my synapse
Life’s an uphill struggle in my shoe size.
An eerie Indiana type of tussle when
I chew mics
Two sides to everything, one for the pacifist, two for the mentalist
Two’s right
I see
Sheets of rain on these streets of rage and take lethal strains just to ease
their pain
It’s like leave this place or ferment 'til the sun pops and just steams away
Count down to Demon Days
These are fandangoed flashbacks, lost in this Mad Max rangoose that we made
Stone after stone in this bleak place, build from the burrows into deep space
And we’ll keep on going 'til the beef steaks faker than cyphers
Sitting on a neat place, certain they’ll find us
Make for the skirting, sleep like the pianist;
eight types of vermin.
Which one is evilest?
Grape vines are lurking, ears in the walls and the ceiling’s are talking to all
that’s appalling
Now we can’t figure it out.
Scribble words 'til the brain waves flicker and
drown, 'til they’re no longer shining
Dough must layers on your rye eyelids are writhing.
Night falls greater than
the giant;
Goliath
One slim shot in a million.
Direct hit now we’re killing 'em
All work and no play makes Scissor bored of the copious bullshit that cradles
my thoughts.
And the same deep visions that I cradled before get replaced by
decay as they change and contort