| [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
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| Always a pleasure, never a chore
|
| Weapons of war
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| Buy 'em for less sell 'em for more
|
| Fire and flesh, metal and claws
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| 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
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| Polishing their offices
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| Spooks in a puddle dance
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| Loose in the rubble
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| Half juiced off a ton of grass
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| 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
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| spine tingling
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| A twinkle in the sky got by stubborn mind whispering again
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| But i been sicker with the pen
|
| Since a little a prick
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| Full of piss, vinegar and phlegm
|
| I ain’t similar to them!
|
| I’m sitting in position with a blem
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| To witness the beginning of the end
|
| So descend
|
| Bruv, step into my office
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| Second on the left full of medicine and vomit
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| Skeletons and closets
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| Wrestle the robotics
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| Praying to a shitsmeared electrical adonis
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| Step in like your retinas are buried in your pockets
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| With pebbles in your sockets
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| Pretending that you’re honest
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| But never to my knowledge
|
| See me on a cirrus cloud
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| Living proud
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| Pissing out rivers on the bitter town
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| Kids, are you sitting down comfortably?
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| Cause I be swinging fish from my livid fists
|
| When they come for me
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| With skullduggery
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| Juggling up fuckery
|
| Shovelling what’s stuck in the gutters
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| Loving the drug drudgery
|
| Clucking for some company
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| Covered in dust
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| Gunning for nothing but dumb currency
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| Use your mind
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| Use it wonderfully
|
| The future’s bright
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| The future’s buttery
|
| The future’s bright
|
| Cos when the nukes drop
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| And light up the skies
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| Then we’ll shine like shoe shop’s new stock
|
| And I’ll be on the roof-top shivering, or
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| 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 find the lyrics of the song Rant, artist - Jam Baxter. Album song Rinse Out Friday / Spack Out Monday, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп