Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Get Smokes, artist - P.O.S. Date of issue: 02.02.2009
Song language: English
Get Smokes |
| Vocals are extra loud |
| Thanks, Jessie! |
| Here! |
| What I’m saying’s intangible! |
| Get smokes… we ain’t got bodegas, we got gas stations |
| Choke, steady rock, ready for whatever pops |
| Split the surface like machete chops |
| Better lost anyway |
| Okay |
| Slash fast getaway, crash whatever path |
| And stop whether it’s caskets or gas hits, last drops |
| I’ll stash whatever math I’ve added in a basket and bury it |
| You let 'em pull the wool, I pull the chariot |
| Faster, lungs like California raisins |
| Singing some type of blues version of «Search and Destroy» |
| I’m talking Stooges, weathered tissue and bruises |
| Iggy «Raw», respect or step back, cute (is what we aim at) |
| Haha, aw, forget- hah- |
| I’m on some Ichabod Crane raps |
| Scared of the headless gaps in any audience |
| Maps exactly where I’mma bucket a whole frame |
| Knuckles up, the ruler’s coming to measure |
| The rudiments of your struggle by the inches, quit bitching |
| Keep building, sheep sleep still |
| Shepherds don’t peep dreams, reach till it’s real |
| Thoughts breach seams on a 59/50 clipped bill |
| Keep the uniform wrecked, trends kill |
| Necks bend still when I step, bend steel when I flex |
| Head kneel to the next, near never |
| No kings ever, nope, sever all that |
| Just a hair too abrasive for a nation on soft |
| Dirty when the style ain’t |
| Bringing that bomb squad density when irate |
| Digging in the crates full of sodium nitrate |
| Like, «tss-» Ow! |
| Burn up my fingertips |
| Roof’s on fire. |
| Fine, just let me get in |
| And find a good place to sit, it’s fucking freezing out |
| Who’s got a cigarette? |
| Who’s got an Ove' Glove and a hard hat for me? |
| All I got is dirt on the jeans, ash in the cuffs |
| Scuffs on the skate highs, keep 'em laughing at us |
| Trust that I keep- tch- that’ll land in your guts |
| If your touch is not welcome, pacified pacifist seldom |
| Someone took the nook, keep yelling on 'em |
| No telling what’ll happen if you pass the fifth |
| And keep your flash pasteurized, mines like fresh outta the tit |
| Ick, Schick sharp, shards for darts, promise of skill |
| Arms up, guard your heart, f’real |
| High crime, low art, protect your neck |
| Face sparks to the- (Oh my god!) |
| No time to waste |
| Take down, clowns in the fake crowns |
| Sound the loud siren, get off my island |
| Doomtree consume the loose silence |
| Fill it to the top with the «digguh-digguh-digguh-digguh» live shit |