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