| One thousand banshees in armoured Jeeps screaming
|
| Couldn’t wake me up from this dreamin' to weave him
|
| With these bleak evenings between these barriers
|
| Fleeing the Jeep chariots, we the disease carriers
|
| Cassius Clay when we box beats like brothel whores
|
| Tomahawk missiles spray gristle slang commodore
|
| What a war son, one rotten forked tongue
|
| Done a rocket, all lies suck it, got 'em all spun
|
| Still blinding, the stock high hybrid
|
| The sea of rhyme psychic minds in tight vices
|
| The sky high mileage, the well travelled brain stems
|
| Days unparalleled, gold lips spray gems
|
| All over some crystal, the alternate minstrel
|
| Clutching at sun beams and gold in a fistful
|
| The ultimate ritual, the gully side of normal
|
| I’d rather be a corpse than a rully eyed immortal
|
| Yeah, yeah it’s all good I guess it all makes sense now
|
| Man’s yammin' on some gourmet flesh now
|
| And once wondrous all play dead now
|
| They’re tryna tell me that it’s all in my head now
|
| Yeah, I guess it all seems perfect
|
| And if you let 'em treat you like a chief you deserve it
|
| One blitz brer freezing in a furnace
|
| One kid scared bleeding in a skirmish
|
| As I bring it back, with maximum impact when I interact
|
| Flipping like a brass aristocrat when the symbols crash
|
| Dashing funny types with the iron monkey stripes
|
| Rhyme fakers vapourize five hundred at a time
|
| Trying to fight this mega-gator
|
| Bussing out the incubator, all hail the devastator
|
| Headless raider, known to the grader, rep of a stranger
|
| Heavy blazer set to escape the mystical manger
|
| Bunches of cut throats, thugs own the drug zones and peace and love is unknown
|
| With a lust to bust chrome
|
| Rough folks with tough tones bunning down Marleys
|
| That cost loads saying fuck those fucking federalis
|
| My art is basic as Lego and meccano
|
| Holding arms in guitar cases like the Desperados
|
| Calve the back of a rappers neck, we set the bar cold
|
| A heavy cargo full of arseholes, check the news flash
|
| Do the blinding true facts when I tear these group acts a new gash like giant
|
| zoo cats
|
| And who’s that cooking up the roast eggs
|
| Fumigating known stench, putrid, rank and grotesque
|
| Death becomes her in a text of one word
|
| And any drunk scum who drinks the blood becomes turned
|
| Badbonez and Jam Baxter dashing blue cracks of wraps
|
| Slackers like a boomerang that’s coming back atcha!
|
| Yeah, yeah it’s all good I guess it all makes sense now
|
| Mans yamming on some gourmet flesh now
|
| The once wondrous all play dead now
|
| They’re pranging out because the war paints fresh now
|
| Yeah, I guess it all seems perfect
|
| And if you let 'em treat you like a chief you deserve it
|
| One blitz brer freezing in a furnace
|
| One kid scared bleeding in a skirmish
|
| Yeah sit there, blitz brer chilling on the blocks of ice
|
| Dropping like cluster bombs, Summers off sorry guys
|
| Check back next year, the kids wet red tears
|
| Pneumatic drills to their dreams through the left ear
|
| Gets weird, treading crushed armour in this stale hell
|
| The age old tail of the trainer and the snail shell
|
| Spring the brain from its jail cell
|
| I guess they’re all good cause all’s well that fails well
|
| Right stick and move, police he figured too
|
| A diagram depicting a kid caught in a pincer move
|
| Pick a new path and find they all lead to the same place
|
| A war scene, not for the small screen and it ain’t safe
|
| Born leading the space race, the rocket tears forgot to steer
|
| And burst into blistering bits burning, what career?
|
| So watch me commandeer every rotting year and yam 'em all
|
| Your lack of passion called, it said watch out for the cannon balls
|
| It said watch out for the cannon balls
|
| Yeah |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Gourmet Flesh, artist - Jam Baxter. Album song The Gruesome Features, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп