| Uhh. |
| bugging. |
| larvage
|
| Sit down. |
| sprockets.
|
| Fucking hate this guy man
|
| Erugh yeah, hard driving, foul, jam baxter
|
| Look look, all hail the mechanical wire man
|
| Sat with the planet like a rat in his iron hands
|
| The wrath of a giant flan, lathered in vile jam
|
| (par.) far from a flash in the frying pan
|
| More like the crust on a unwashed pot of gum
|
| What a month son, come kotch till you pop a lung
|
| Its got him konked, it’s all a little bit solicious
|
| A little kid light the piff now he’s in his innards
|
| When he’s not beaten by illogical bitches
|
| He’s eating like a slob as he twitches, oesophagus itches
|
| Theophany of sprockets and switches
|
| Words, clicks, pops and forgotten statistics
|
| A lot of logistics, in militant munching
|
| Clunking, I cried him a river to rust in
|
| He drank it in one sip, and sat like a dumb prick
|
| Screaming «beep beep» with a can full of crushed
|
| Hard driving.
|
| It goes mass manufactured electrical odyssey
|
| Strapped to a gadget, techno-lobotomy
|
| Snap the elastic, check the commodity
|
| Wrapped up in plastic, fed to the colony
|
| Look I ain’t even scratching the surface, wrapped in is circuits
|
| A whole population of languishing hermits
|
| Trapped in the skirmish with mountainous Daleks
|
| Grab your silver bullets and your ounces of garlic
|
| The wrong stopping mega biting your neck
|
| Smell the slime on his breath, selling slices of death
|
| Tenderising your chest, to my right and my left
|
| I saw it all sprawling, rise in its mess
|
| And (yes.), I’m being morbid I guess kid
|
| A field full of green can put it all in perspective
|
| A gormless collective, digital behemoth
|
| Ruler of all he surveys with a tray of slop
|
| Stale crocs, served in a box of data
|
| He’s not your saviour, common slob stocking paper
|
| Flogging nature with a million MacBooks
|
| Damn that’s a brass look fam he’s got mans shook
|
| Seriously, get this guy, out of my house
|
| Properly like, seriously man
|
| Sponsored by Strongbow to
|
| Fumes man
|
| don’t forget me
|
| K cider, boom
|
| It goes mass manufactured electrical odyssey
|
| Strapped to a gadget, techno-lobotomy
|
| Snap the elastic, check the commodity
|
| Wrapped up in plastic, fed to the colony
|
| I saw it, all of it, in all its entirety
|
| On one sunny afternoon crawling inside of me
|
| Dwarfed by sobriety, ah the irony (shit)
|
| I still couldn’t describe it for the life of me
|
| Finding the light finally, I’m sat at the summit
|
| (yeah.) quick as a flash sucked back in the gullet
|
| The draggle cats scamber on gelatinous rubbish
|
| Like, come here you fat slapper you love it
|
| Yeah right (yeah right), in a air tight Tupperware
|
| Nothings there, refrigerated in a rubber lair
|
| And they love it there, but I was never sure
|
| Skeletor, laying in bed with a blem of draw
|
| I saw. |
| the unexplored depths
|
| Scooped them all out, now there’s nothing more left
|
| But a stubborn sore retch and a motherboard stretched to capacity
|
| This is what’s left of reality. |
| reality |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Wires, artist - Jam Baxter. Album song Rinse Out Friday / Spack Out Monday, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп