| Desert wizard, lizard, and dragon tussle
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| Whole forest burned down and ruined the town’s truffles
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| Except for the outer realm mountains, everything else is brown
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| And hundreds of hounds pillage the village, can’t fuck with the sounds
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| Crew back giant-ass, large, looking slick as the barge
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| Old-ass mustache cars, we ran those bars
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| We felt like superstars, we had the cubes too
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| She had great tubes, pretty feet and shoes
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| Porn and your mom’s lube, Hold on to the right new
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| Might have the hissy fit, and tear the whole room apart, to bits
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| Speech about privacy, why you gotta lie to me?
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| I don’t know where I left off, she had the plaid top
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| «You're about to black out, you need to get out»
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| «We too tall to fit in this small house»
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| Neck all stressed down, hanging-ass red face
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| That or the dog case, more like a comfortable couch
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| Step over the mess gate, into the real house
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| Hair on my new wool, looking like cashmere
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| Looking like crow too, magical star shapes
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| Sticky like model cap, feathery silk capes
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| Venomous black crepes, venomous glass snakes
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| Delicate wine flute, help us commiserate
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| Florida date state, they had the best bass
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| Gladly make you a steak, even dig you a lake
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| This is your stereo, it’ll keep you awake
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| You’re about to black out
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| Back and forth catechism, cattle and ammunition
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| Queen didn’t have vision, didn’t he —shit— mention
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| Dragons were coming soon
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| Should’ve made harpoons, instead of ornate brooms
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| Bought the museum safe, look where we at now
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| Pillage the village hounds, benzos gone man
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| We’re about to black out, stepping into a room
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| Popcorn-sealed fume, expensive like
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| Giant-ass mouth clothes, arrogant all pose
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| Soak-in-the-soap clothes, standing in old clothes
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| Giant-ass mountain ship, cut to the cockpit
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| Focus and close mouth, we’re about to black out
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| We are too tall, to fit in a dog house
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| What a melodic thing
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| Taller than Seth Green, shorter than Sid Bream
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| Entirely in a dream, we are Hall &Oates
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| Avis' car «es, saddened and bounded
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| Why weren’t we grounded?
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| I was at Wimbledon, close to Ontario
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| Emotional feelings hurt, pissy-pants first grade
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| Smell like your cousin’s age, back before Sissy Rage
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| Little man, long legs
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| Samsara horse escape, spiderwebs on clothes
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| Walking with brown face, look at the new apes
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| We’re about to smash graves |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Flying Ace , by - Sisyphus. Song from the album Sisyphus, in the genre Альтернатива