| Forty four flies on leashes and you wonder why they act this way
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| With a collar wrapped tight round their necks pulling down
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| Left one sole choice for a landing bay
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| The flies on your face ain’t leaving
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| Have an outstanding day with forty four knots in your hair
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| Fly swatting with the retarded fat cats catching prey
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| Forty four flies on leashes, you wonder why they chat this way
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| When the leather’s wrapped tight round their necks chained down
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| Trying to use your face as a landing bay
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| The flies in your mouth aren’t moving
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| Have an outstanding stay with forty four pests in the air
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| Fly swatting like a tangled arachnid catching prey
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| I am no Mister Miyage on a chopstick hype with a bowl full of insects
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| I am not a part of your hotbed of rulebooks burn to a mountain of smouldering
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| incest
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| I’m not equipped to pick wings off you lot and smear your remains on the walls
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| Like blood red warnings staining the halls of the paper mache cage made for you
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| all
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| Nah, are you buzzing?
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| Dumb question
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| Rhetorical in part yet relevant
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| To your six bruk legs and your saucepan of gumed up nights stewed down to the
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| sediment
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| Scraped up sculpted and sold as a human
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| Second hand skin still delicate
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| Bought from an alleyway salesman the layrs peeled off to reveal a disgusting
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| development
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| Damn who laid these eggs in my eyes again?
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| If I boil them alive would you die for them?
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| Your machinery can’t turn flies to men
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| Best kill them on arrival then
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| I’ll be a drugged out mess when the cycle ends
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| Let these eyeballs wrinkle and crack
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| Till I wake one morn shrunk down on the ceiling
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| To find four cellophane wings on my back
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| The skies kept flies on leashes, and they wonder why we act this way
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| With a collar wrapped tight round our necks pulling down
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| Left one dead town for a landing bay
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| The flies at the gates ain’t leaving
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| Have an outstanding day with the beggars and the drunks in a dumb
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| Fly swatting like a retarded fat cat catching prey
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| The skies kept flies on leashes, you wonder why they chat this way
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| When the leather’s wrapped tight round their necks chained down
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| Trying to use this city as a landing bay
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| The flies on the ground ain’t moving
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| Have an outstanding stay with the mentally marred in a yard
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| Fly swatting with the drunken arachnids catching prey
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| I will not move when the sky pukes dark clouds billowing across false borders
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| I will not morph to a tin man sobing on a hand me down sket when the gods get
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| nauseous
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| I will not feed this obese gang of pigs with a singular slice of myself
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| When my face thaws out and the icicles melt
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| And the pavements finally felt the uncomfortable tickle of an insect dancing
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| Across a dark street
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| With the inbreds marching
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| SLAP! |
| That’s another one
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| Pin him to the frame with the other ones
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| Ain’t that charming
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| Wahgwan starlets, gas fuelled bastards, picket sign punch bags, hand made
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| martyrs
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| How’s that revolution of yours moving?
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| Limp fish swing for the steel pinatas
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| 'Fly my pretties!' |
| setting up camp in the rolls of fat
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| In the belly of the city with a bowl of smack
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| Like a sundried prune with a soul attached
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| Fall prey to an infants thumb
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| Brain swelling in elastic skin
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| Till I wake one morn fully formed eyes golden
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| And let them all buzz till the fat bitch sings
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| I can sort of sense it all sweetening in hind sight
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| Regurgitated sugar faded pictures of the high life
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| I told 'em peace peace slipped the razor out and sliced twice
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| Slash the leash leash I told them live fast and fly right
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| Yeah, I told them live fast and fly right
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| Yeah, I told them live fast and fly right
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| I told them live fast and fly right
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| Slash the leash leash I told them live fast and fly right |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Leash, artist - Jam Baxter. Album song ...So We Ate Them Whole, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп