Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Eyeball Soup, artist - The Uncluded. Album song Hokey Fright, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 06.05.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Rhymesayers Entertainment
Song language: English
Eyeball Soup |
And the blind lead the blind in the dark trail winding |
Turned eyed mimes find finds reminding us |
That our compasses are inside, and a GPS is not required for this ride |
We will be fine without our eyes closed tight |
We will be fine with them open wide |
Sit in the back or you can drive |
Either way you’ll get there in due time |
Sitting bitch, splitting head |
Spinning through the zigging hedge |
Back into the primal goop |
That spit him on the blinking grid |
Sipping on his eyeball soup |
A pretty mess of I.O.U.'s |
Quiet scars, science, art |
Tiny parts and giant shoes |
Cause we all get to the end of life |
And the best laid plans can change overnight |
And the best made maps will need updates |
As earthquakes shift tectonic plates |
Clearcut topiary Braille animalia |
Molemen navigate for sailors |
Stars negate creative failures |
Pants romance taken by tailors |
Holy Moses, Hokey Fright |
Like ghosts into the strobing light |
Rebels play the record once |
Mothers pray the rosary twice |
He knows uprooting, broken tuning |
Poker, pool and okie noodling, Drinking blood and eating brains |
Pissing colors free of names |
Great Danes serenade their jailers |
Brittany spaniels speared by whalers |
Whopper junior malted milk |
Some earworms weave the softest silk |
That we don’t mind stuck in our heads |
Like blankets handmade by our friends |
Thermostat for the temporal lobe |
Warm it up feel less alone |
Freezing cold and more afraid than normal folk on warmer days |
For reasons we may never know |
Or know but never chlorinate |
A quarter for the closest gorf |
20 on his bowling score |
Distracted to the point of accident is what we’re going for |
With a lalala and a zigga zigga zow |
Harvest corn crops, big toe plow |
Can there be a babe without a Paul Bunyan? |
Wizards crave wasabi funyuns |
I’ll hug bobb’ys hugging tree while landfills fill with huggie jeans |
I’m a hoarder hoarding jeggings, stuffed doggies, books and craft-makings |
When home is mostly gross behavior, stolen mail and nosey neighbors |
Earthlings in a metal crate, Accelerate with poker faces |
Focused on if they woke up in the time for lobby omelets |
Then its a pile into the rocket, destination delta quadrant |
Like, «pchew!» |
Safety Scissors cut through leather, melted butter, gently severed |
Tether clipped |
Start to breathe |
Undone dishes self release |
This is the collective voice of animals and misfit toys intruding |
I’m kidding it’s me, what are you doing? |