Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Don't Think, artist - No Bird Sing. Album song Definition Sickness, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 11.11.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Strange Famous
Song language: English
Don't Think |
Inked up temptress in a see through dress |
Sipping pink umbrella drinks in the swell of strings before the tempest come |
I met her at the multiplex |
Tried to catch her with a faulty net |
Acted like I let her go |
Then I wrote a letter home |
Mourning all the beauty in my past that I would never know again |
In the center fold, I spit, giving up the last bit of her I had to give |
Flickering kiss ‘ Ravenous lips on a salty neck |
Yet, with all due respect to the sentences |
I could never end ‘em so I sent ‘em where the skeptics live |
Bottled at the bottom of river with the messages |
Lesson is, objects of affection turn to fetishes quick |
Awkward in the dark then shark fin flinch |
Blood slick in the water |
Caught a whiff |
Lifted up a mirror |
Aimed it at her softer parts |
Just another trick that I borrowed from Oliver Hart |
Left the theater with a knee jerk |
Reaction to the caption saying Samson you don’t need her |
Years later and I’m blissfully bald |
But every now and then I get a glimpse of what it’s like when pillars fall |
[homesick feedback reeling |
Tin can cut string taunt red calls from last evening] |
No bottom to the feeling |
Merciless bent space |
It hurts that it hurts to see her face |
In the depth of the pain one wave rippling intricate shapes |
So complicated a simple brain would be insane to be sane |
When did it start? |
How does it stop? |
Glad to know I’m doing all of this for nothing |
I hate how you don’t know how much I hate how you don’t know |
How beautiful I think you don’t think you are |
I hate how you don’t know how much I hate how you don’t know |
How beautiful I think you don’t think you are |
Whatever I was cracked up to be might’ve sucked to me |
So I cracked myself up |
Whether or not anyone else thought it was funny |
Touchy feely sensitive scum of the mother earthlings |
Depressed by the wonderful number the caged bird sings |
Surfs up on that vanishing coastline. |
Man who is post-prime |
Denies the damages though he’s covered in bandages |
The whole time |
Manages to co-sign the next up and coming act |
Depletes the gold mine front to back |
Sucking blood and pocketing cash |
Under the table |
Over the heads of the gullible youth director collective |
No test of leadership, no truth detector |
Attempting to resist the transition |
From playfully crazy to plain old crazy |
Just break the mold maybe |
I can’t hold your baby, I already told the lady this |
But if they overpay me, I’ll bankroll your laziness |
I’ve gotta get an alias that’s different. |
Get a new face |
And finally fix the zipper on my suitcase |
Skip to my Lou Farigno |
As I walk down this dusty road with ripped jeans |
Big dreams & inflatable pillow |
A brillo notepad for rough sketches and love letters |
For faux pas fashionistas with a fascination for ugly sweaters |
Correspondence sent directly from the trenches |
So it might not reach you til after I’ve served my sentence |
If you happen to be married I’ll be happy to kill him for a small fee |
Signed, yours forever and always |
Paulie |