| And they MCs, you know who I’m talking about
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| And they MCs, so heads please
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| Why you wanna nerdify the scene
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| 'cause you heard some brehs kill it and it turned your mind to green?
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| Turds in my latrine, clawing at the sides
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| Lurk in my machine, snorkelling my mind
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| I was talking to the flies on a warm summer’s day
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| So you can chalk up a storm 'cause I walk unafraid
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| And I smelled hell, and them days I never felt well
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| Shells fell from the skies, blind, I would yell help
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| It never came, but the day I stop breathing’s
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| The day I stop screaming, today I’m not leaving
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| My chamber pots leaking liquid animosity
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| Swill a can of horrors and I piss it back as honesty
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| Distilling like the waragi, swimming in the test-tubes
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| Head glued to the mirror picking at the flesh wounds
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| So please, why you wanna spit like a neek?
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| Just let your life drift in the breeze
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| Punch-drunk off of one fucking beer
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| Or just under the thumbs of some dumb puppeteer pulling strings
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| Looking at your life, and it’s grim
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| Butchering the mind of a kid
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| Sat sipping slit limbs from a chalice, like the cribs of molasses
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| In your fictional palace now
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| I ain’t an idiot (naw)
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| Maybe I kinda am
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| Maybe I’m living my life tied to a cider can
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| Mind my saliva gland, flood a fickle sandscape
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| A rampage of colour comes gushing in a blank space
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| How’s the jam taste? |
| How’s the bitter berries?
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| How’s your fan-base? |
| Or have you quit already?
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| This shit is messy but they’re acting like it’s glorious
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| Preach to the masses, bruv, patronise your audience
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| With government this, conspiracy that
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| Isn’t it brash? |
| Yes it is, bruv, I’m living with that
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| Deliver the scraps to the door in a bag marked «potential»
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| I’ll whip you up a feast in my black marble temple
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| Stand half-assembled, ordering parts
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| From a stack of lost catalogs stored in the past
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| Gawp at the stars, and wonder if it’s all a mirage
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| If it is, would it matter if I tore them apart?
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| So please, why you wanna spit like a neek?
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| Just let your life drift in the breeze
|
| Punch-drunk off of one fucking beer
|
| Or just under the thumbs of some dumb puppeteer pulling strings
|
| Looking at your life, and it’s grim
|
| Butchering the mind of a kid
|
| Sat sipping slit limbs from a chalice, like the cribs of molasses
|
| In your fictional palace now |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Please, artist - Jam Baxter. Album song Rinse Out Friday / Spack Out Monday, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп