| Verse 1:
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| My my that’s a shit spaceship, can we switch places?
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| Looks like a kid made it
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| From a wet box
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| Take off in T minus twenty slim years in ethereal deadlock
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| Flight manual mangled
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| Which way’s up again?
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| Text the directions to oh seven double ten triple six two five
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| See you in a few light years on a new vibe
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| Now who’s driving?
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| Blue lightning bolts can prove frightening for pig headed pilots
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| More fool the righteous
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| More fuel to guide us
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| Cooking on a match head
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| Knee deep in diesel
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| Re-heat the rats nest
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| We’re hungry out here bruv
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| Moon suited zooted up dagger tongued sprats in secluded spaces
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| Take off in three, two, wonderful
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| Right, great, good, I’m guessing everybody’s comfortable
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| Shit’s semi functional
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| My my that’s a shit blueprint
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| Looks like a kid drew this
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| But the foolish plans of mice, men and flops sometimes work when the pressure
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| drops
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| So I said «grab a mask breathe deep and lie back»
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| De-shank your eyes in a bright black sky map
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| Sullen stung brain from a lost age finds metal
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| My flying sky vessel
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| Verse 2:
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| I tried to escape from the midday spackage
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| Wrapped it all up in a grim grey package
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| Here sits ape static, the mid space classic
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| Ladies and gentlemen, as if they manage
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| Strange planet? |
| Looks like it’s made out of paper
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| Take down the vapour and wait out 'til later
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| The great vegetator, saviour of lost men
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| What friend? |
| I’m a hold mine 'til I drop dead
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| What’s next… A pint of interstellar artois
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| Wishing on a star while I’m giving them the last chance
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| That’s a half arsed attempt at a rocket
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| Sod it, is anybody left there to dock it?
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| Less of the chronic, more pence in the pocket
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| Reset the robotics, connect to the sockets
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| Forget what you wanted, protect the dishonest
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| Forget all the knowledge of the debts that you promise
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| I’m rocking mechanised keks like Wallace
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| So take my inside leg sket, I’m on this
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| Rocking the asteroid belt of a champion
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| So I hope understand me son, or man be gone
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| You’re listening to Jams and Ron
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| From the odd little rock that we’re standing on
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| Scanners on, take off’s in three, two, wonderful
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| Fine, great, good, I’m hoping everybody’s punctual |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Altitude Sickness , by - Jam Baxter. Song from the album The Gruesome Features, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп