Lyrics Tuf Tiddy - Shredders, Sims, P.O.S.

Tuf Tiddy

Live from environments while iron eagles flyin'
Metal pieces fired
Heaving high into the evening
Come and meet me
Hunting season
Numbered days
I often wonder if that’s even odd
Thesis: reason leaving
Are you breathing?
Right on, my god
Bygones bygones
Ions flaring
Flying from the one that I’m on, sheesh
Beyond neon
I ride on nylon and bearings
Write in krylon, «You're fucking with The Juggernaut»
Why they, why they wanna go to war with them?
Tin clad skin, grin made of porcelain
Orbiting, I can spot 'em from the dorsal fin
Ornament, waiting for the Metamorphosis
Ain’t no Kafka, just some ca-ca from the demagogues
Rocking with the Baphomets inside the Pentagon
One push the button then we bye bye
Bright eyes nigh nigh
You play the sidline
I break the game and make the highlight
Whoa, here we go again
Whoa, it’s always on ten
Whoa, it’s always on ten
Whoa-oh-oh
Whoa-oh-oh
Whoa, here we go again (and again)
Whoa, it’s always on ten
Whoa, it’s always on ten
Whoa-oh-oh
Whoa-oh-oh
Whoa-oh-oh
Whoa-oh-oh
Been a brass-ball
Bearing beast
Ball-sack of gator
Skin off the pavement, preach
Barely great
Crazy 88 Raiders
Beating the fake
Outta you fucks
Bottoms up
Bodies all over the place
Beat the brakes
Beat us and
Beat the face, greasy lean
See the teeth fleeing
To the planet of the blamin' apes
Feeding time
Freedom fights
Feed 'em fire
Free to fry but pay the price
Peter pipes we play through pain
Drapes!
Peace of mind, for piece of yours
I’ll bring the blade
Bring the boys
Out of the yard
I put 'em back in their milkshakes
Cut slash dig
Dumbin' up, domino
Slam Dum dudda
I’m just a city slick
Son of a bitch
Buck bash brick
Do whatcha like
A doo-wop diddy
Don’t letcha britches
Get too fuckin' big
I’ll take the brag outta the docious
Put it back in the bag
Not your bruh, bruh
Buddy, don’t call me guy
You know what it is
Glass on the outside
Blood on the inside
Something ain’t right
Couldn’t think of any other way to hide
Couldn’t be a better way to get away than die
But we some big fans of life, and humbled
And big fans of light, and tunnels
It’s so sick man, got so sick’ning
Quick goddamn man, something better get me
Whoa, here we go again
Whoa, it’s always on ten
Whoa, it’s always on ten
Whoa-oh-oh
Whoa-oh-oh
Whoa, here we go again (and again)
Whoa, it’s always on ten
Whoa, it’s always on ten
Whoa-oh-oh
Whoa-oh-oh
Whoa-oh-oh
Whoa-oh-oh