| [Alfredo: Let me speak to you about the, uh, «anatomy of terror.»
|
| Prospero: Terror? |
| What would you know of terror, Alfredo? |
| Your senses are much
|
| too blunt! |
| What is «terror?» |
| Come. |
| ]
|
| Yeah, All-star Spack Out
|
| Always a pleasure, never a chore
|
| Weapons of war
|
| Buy 'em for less sell 'em for more
|
| Fire and flesh, metal and claws
|
| Let the chemicals pour
|
| See my red swelling eyes effervesce at the core
|
| So I’m like peace
|
| In a bit apocalypse shit
|
| Ring me when you stop killing the impoverished
|
| Polishing their offices
|
| Spooks in a puddle dance
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| Loose in the rubble
|
| Half juiced off a ton of grass
|
| Head spinning like the London Eye
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| Lullaby sung by a bloodsucking butterfly
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| See you on the other side
|
| spine tingling
|
| A twinkle in the sky got by stubborn mind whispering again
|
| But i been sicker with the pen
|
| Since a little a prick
|
| Full of piss, vinegar and phlegm
|
| I ain’t similar to them!
|
| I’m sitting in position with a blem
|
| To witness the beginning of the end
|
| So descend
|
| Bruv, step into my office
|
| Second on the left full of medicine and vomit
|
| Skeletons and closets
|
| Wrestle the robotics
|
| Praying to a shitsmeared electrical adonis
|
| Step in like your retinas are buried in your pockets
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| With pebbles in your sockets
|
| Pretending that you’re honest
|
| But never to my knowledge
|
| See me on a cirrus cloud
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| Living proud
|
| Pissing out rivers on the bitter town
|
| Kids, are you sitting down comfortably?
|
| Cause I be swinging fish from my livid fists
|
| When they come for me
|
| With skullduggery
|
| Juggling up fuckery
|
| Shovelling what’s stuck in the gutters
|
| Loving the drug drudgery
|
| Clucking for some company
|
| Covered in dust
|
| Gunning for nothing but dumb currency
|
| Use your mind
|
| Use it wonderfully
|
| The future’s bright
|
| The future’s buttery
|
| The future’s bright
|
| Cos when the nukes drop
|
| And light up the skies
|
| Then we’ll shine like shoe shop’s new stock
|
| And I’ll be on the roof-top shivering, or
|
| Stuck at a useless fucking computer, dribbling
|
| One of the two, I tug at the roots of discipline
|
| Rough as the gruesome bucket of soup I’m swimming in
|
| But the sun and the moon are glistening
|
| So I’mma sit here, bunnin a zoot and giggling |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Rant , by - Jam Baxter. Song from the album Rinse Out Friday / Spack Out Monday, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп