Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Block Island Sound, artist - Locksmith. Date of issue: 29.06.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Block Island Sound |
| The forecast for block island sound |
| Small craft advisory in effect from 2AM Tuesday through Wednesday afternoon |
| For tonight, south winds, 10−15 knots with gusts up to 20 knots |
| Seas 3−5 feet |
| A chance of showers and thunderstorms, visibility 1 nautical mile or less, |
| increasing to 1−3 nautical miles after midnight |
| Rock over the beat, rock over the drum |
| Better look out God, here the Devil come |
| Spit 'til your cerebellum is numb |
| Blow speakers with the force of an elephant gun |
| I’m Attila the Hun, I’m as ill as they come |
| 9 mm filler, still a killer that stun |
| Like electrical voltage, grip deadly as Vulcans |
| From the depths of the dungeon the dragon’s awoken |
| Run for water while your village is smoking |
| Bring any competitor and I bet they get broken |
| Laying on the ground with their head split open |
| A notion to plasma get blasted approaching |
| The master of roasting, you rappers are joking |
| You better have a cheat code, a magical potion |
| Tracks I’m composing get acid erosion |
| You acts like you’re frozen |
| And fractured and broken and cracked and corroding |
| You’re wack, you’re a rodent |
| Ap is like Odin, in fact I’m the omen |
| Motor-boating boobs while the booze overflowing |
| Suckers overdosing your soul is left floating |
| With a handsome price |
| I’m the hands of Christ |
| I’m the smell of deceit that is Samson’s wife |
| I’m the serpent in the bush |
| With the sermon that was pushed |
| Barefooted Jericho tryna dance the pipe |
| I’m the bright side of genocide |
| And gin aside, every sinner side |
| See you with your henna side |
| I don’t sympathize |
| To one of you sin aside |
| Put a synth in the sinner essentially in his pride |
| Pin clinching intention is in tention |
| Incision any rapper you then mention |
| Innocent victims they been lynching |
| Fuck it, we all muppets this system is Jim Henson |
| A real hassle shit that they will ask you |
| Women are still bashful |
| Hit you and then pass you |
| Stay clear, I catch you in cape fear |
| Max Cady under your jeep gripping under your wheel axle |
| Still maxing three bitches, Bill Paxton |
| Peel caps and put his ass in a steel capsule |
| Black suit but I’m still casual |
| Play trumpets over your grave bitch |
| I’m the real Satchmo |
| Is that so? |
| I’ve sort of been living my life as DiMaggio or Castro |
| I’d rather be dead than be put in a black hole |
| You lack flow, you ingest what’s sold |
| There’s more gas in your lungs than your chest can hold |
| I’m here to vocalize and open wide |
| Invoking my emotion like a poet type |
| Your throat is sliced and closing like a cobra strike |
| Immobilizin' poser types who lie and say they’re dope, they’re not |
| Put metal in they mouth like I’m tryna fix their overbite |
| I know I’m nice, the flows I write |
| Are so divine and no one’s quite as dope as I am |
| Throwin' knives, I’m ghostly white |
| And glow at night and cold as ice |
| With hoes are like your trophy wife who choke on pipe |
| And swallow all my children like the TV up in Poltergeist |
| I’m dope as spider foes that bite |
| You know the types that no one likes |
| I roll with types with motorbikes that dump your body oceanside |
| And overnight I soak my knife, you know I’m not just flowing |
| I’m the plague motherfucker, when I rap you see the locust fly |
| I pulverize 'em, trap ‘em in the witch’s craft |
| And plus the mystic black candles that are drippin' wax |
| My ex-girl got married, I ain’t pissed or mad |
| Wonder if she told her new man she licked my ass |
| Anyway, I got problems and my issues are frightening |
| Spit vicious for a living and rhythm’s enticing |
| Do I want a blowjob? |
| These bitches are psychic |
| And they keep giving head like they’re victims of ISIS |
| Wild Card |