Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Ithaca , by - Rob Sonic. Song from the album Defriender, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 03.12.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: SKYPIMPS
Song language: English
Ithaca |
| Rubbers so fair game, vicious V, R-and-R |
| Renegade baby back, maniac car alarms |
| Are in chart, yellow eyes surf-n-turf the gasoline |
| Make me search for scissors, taking pictures, turning Japanese |
| Strawberry clockwork, Rockford wanna file this |
| Buy me out for 90 thou', a tiny house and violins |
| That’s why the pins and needles and I sew with are the dirtiest |
| So come and tread the depth of this perception if you’re curious |
| Hurry wigs messed up, wrestle with the woe is me |
| Ricochets that hit your face and settled in your Ovaltine |
| Don’t believe the hype or looper, why sumo even try |
| To measure up the center cut, in finer suits and beeper ties |
| These the guys that get their kicks while soldering your fingernails |
| Laughing at the lockers while they’re doctoring your ginger ale |
| Distant tales on how it was, revisions with the pitter-pat |
| Up and down my power lunch on how it was on River Ave |
| If your cat bit 'em, well, zinfandel christening |
| Ship 'em to the Donner man where all the ants are listening |
| Ripping in a jellyfish, scale back the oven mitts |
| And set it an forget it 'cause I’m steady on that other shit |
| Cover it, entity, tambourine, war-cry |
| Hit 'em with the rhythm of that Ithaca jawline |
| More time needed to be seated at assembly |
| We come to take the lunchroom and the mushrooms made of centipedes |
| The area that you are discussing now is the aura of this planet |
| It is the Communicative Channel to which the |
| Million Council governs this planet |
| From the ground where they house-sit for cables |
| Mouthfuls of miller turned to scalpels and staples |
| Couch full of village voice, Illinois key-chains |
| Death be a fillers point, kill the noise briefcase |
| Tell your teenage cherries on a chalkboard |
| Got a bra barely just to carry 'round his aux cord |
| Encore, treading the rest of your own face |
| When the best of your options are sopping in propane |
| He rocking your rope chain, a problem you can’t solve |
| With some years, ever clear of spirited phone calls |
| Mirrors on both walls, watching your night off |
| For fear that your own flaws were not at the drive cloth |
| Rock 'em and sock toys with the rubbed off tool, he’s |
| On the way to fake daps and got stuck on twosies |
| Cuffing his blue jeans right at your boot spurs |
| Fuck your life, Bobby light up your block like the Pubert |
| Want to fight about it flower? |
| I’m down at the shipyard |
| With a hoochie mama using her boobs as a whip card |
| Bottomless pit bog, starving but still wavy |
| Walking with six yards through the parks that are still crazy |
| Staring a true A to Z in dark glasses |
| Part of the roof rainy, tea parlor bar matches |
| Speeding through fall fashion week, if the truth hurts |
| I’ll be in a Jaws hat, Capris, and a new fur |