Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Dreamsleep (feat. Cecil Otter) , by - Sims. Song from the album Lights Out Paris, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 29.06.2015
Record label: Doomtree
Song language: English
Dreamsleep (feat. Cecil Otter) |
| Break the wiring harness, stop the cameras |
| Snakes are firing arms and block the answers |
| Clouded plots blow spots with robot newscasters |
| After two masters shoot whispers through roof rafters |
| Pass it on to the next master gone street merchant |
| Next person to purchase a version of these freak’s words |
| And playtime might make time stand still |
| Saluting riots and looting, it’s a primetime kill |
| Take me back to the way it used to be |
| Usually move my feet, now I stand still |
| While your will chooses defeat |
| Chew some pills so you can sleep |
| Only to wake to 9 to 5 to life and can’t escape your fate, right? |
| Turn on your break lights and turn left wing |
| Let’s sing «Swing Low, Sweet Chariot» |
| And carry it to the burial ground around the corner |
| Warm your order forms born from your shorter thorns |
| Torn from your garden |
| Choose your corporate credit card |
| While the senate scars the tenants |
| Lieutenants mar the menace peasants |
| While the medic yawns and turns his head in pillow dreams |
| 20,00 leagues deep in American Dream sleep soliloquies |
| Killing me with free speech |
| Impediment residents don’t know a goddamn thing |
| About the irrelevant tenements |
| I’m not dancing |
| To the ranting and raving |
| Paving paths past the mating season |
| Leaving dreamers breeding in the land of the lost |
| You’re dreaming |
| When the saints go marching in I’ll market them to demons |
| Can you pull this cannibalist out of the animal’s fist |
| With a Hannibalistic wit, you’ll fit me in your schedule |
| Hidden in your incredible edible head full of skull snaps |
| That’s that for the dull raps |
| And I see you knocking back cheap bourbon |
| You’re fucking knees hurting and you can’t be a complete person |
| Cause that sheet’s certain to make a stereotype |
| Paper Tiger keeps the stereo tight, I make the burial rights |
| I was buried alive riding merry-go-rounds around the burial grounds |
| Lounging in the fucking lap of luxury |
| Like ooh, barracuda |
| I could swear that you were in the school, who bears the fruit of their labor |
| Fuck that pay dirt, got me reaching for the razor |
| This one’s for the racist that mocks the caged bird |
| The one that gives my dumb skull crumbs for a day’s work |
| That’s why I write a song about fire bombs, fuck Viacom |
| Sing me a song that’s long and meaningful |
| Pull me into your premise baby make me want it bad news |
| Sad moves, truth is a monsoon |
| Dressed up in costumes on Fox News |
| Let me mock you to sleep sleepy headbanger |
| Got to wait your turn to earn your turn through the turnstile |
| Schemes form four peace wars with taskforce |
| For more resources for gas whores |
| You’re dreaming |