Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Infinite Scroll, artist - P.O.S. Album song Chill, dummy, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 26.01.2017
Record label: Doomtree
Song language: English
Infinite Scroll |
| Awestricken, my brow furled up, my lip is curled |
| All distant, need a referral for a different world |
| Audacious my instinct is to go and get small places |
| Fuck your lease, I don’t owe you shit |
| Outlandish, I get low and I hover there |
| Not branded, cause if they could they’d discover air |
| Rain Walrus, under a pelt like a brother bear |
| Stone Fragments trapped in air tight tupperware |
| Who’s missing? |
| The headcount says minus 1 |
| Dude, listen: Priest, my mouth is a zion’s gun |
| Intrepid, below ice like the submarine |
| Been sectioned, looking at old tight drum machines |
| Mixed potions, Hoping to grow like Thumbelin' |
| Your shit’s broken, so watch me roll like tumbleweed |
| Old patterns breaking, interrupt duplicates |
| No data: blank, your concept’s toothless |
| It’s done |
| I am a dead man walking |
| Them streets ain’t talking, man |
| They busy talking on they phones |
| Favoriting they problems, liking all they causes |
| Can’t help feelin' alone |
| I’m tryna live it while I can |
| Feeling every feeling, every feeling I can stand |
| Unplugged, unstuck instead of unwound and undone |
| (Head down, thumbs up) |
| Instead of lost in the infinite |
| Woke up flat broke in a back seat |
| Low-ball recalling til I choke down the caffeine |
| Throbbing in my back when I feel the earth beneath my feet |
| Life’s no beach, it’s a rabid dog in heat |
| And I’m not your hostage, I’m hot potato—hash you out later |
| Not now, I’m way too gone for the page you’re on |
| In fact I burned the whole book like my next high depended on it |
| Batting fat lashes at the casting, ranting |
| «Save the fucking dolphins, you guys,» |
| While I mash a tuna sandwich |
| Fables never sounded so rounded and pounding |
| Never wound down, never found out |
| Who’s counting, who’s down with us |
| Should be obvious not a network mess |
| I guess that’s why my cuticles uplift in upset for the present unkept |
| Tenderness of my fleshiness |
| Dead with the swelling of this particular winter’s discontent |
| I am a dead man walking |
| Them streets ain’t talking, man |
| They busy talking on they phones |
| Favoring all my problems, liking all my causes |
| Can’t help feelin' alone |
| I’m tryna live it while I can |
| Feeling every feeling, every feeling I can stand |
| Unplugged, unstuck instead of unwound and undone |
| (Head down, thumbs up) |
| Instead of lost in the infinite |
| Huh? |
| Compare myself to who? |
| Skitching on this mother ship |
| Rock with a champion crew |
| Fit in with this other shit |
| I don’t even know what they do |
| I ain’t tryna learn, it’s servant shit I never knew |
| I’m a professional profession skipper |
| Never been a job I didn’t quit to hit a stage and rip it |
| Get it in, Get into it |
| Better with this, off the map |
| I’m ten and two-ing, keep it moving constantly |
| Keep that foolish off of me |
| Possibilities are literally limitless |
| But that screen is inches from your vision, man |
| That scenery is written text |
| Tryna knowledge up this girl |
| Who’s talking on her phone though |
| Typing hella awkward |
| Bout some other chick she don’t know |
| Hate the hand dealt, self-help through selfie therapy |
| Play the feels felt with your digital self, aimlessly |
| Only dramatic people utter «no drama» |
| Butter-nutting that beef they only seem to keep a pound of |
| Right? |
| Fuck |