| We don’t believe in weak spot
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| For every cheap shot you got
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| We hold a mirror to your blind spot
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| Your throat holds artificial words
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| Spewing garbage lines out to the headliners herds
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| A puppet to your own disappointment
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| Your big egoed mouth is a fly in the ointment
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| This ain’t no rap and all name
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| All act and no pain
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| Drag around our honesty
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| Like a ball and a chain
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| Take a bullet for these two no question
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| You flake on labelmates at a managers suggestion
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| Now who’s the better man?
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| Who’s got the better plan?
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| Friends for life or fleeting fame leaving you with less than?
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| Throw the throat that golds the cope that slows hope
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| In the blood
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| Cold in the drug
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| Tow of show
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| And no
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| Thing
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| But owe
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| One wing and stole
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| Got no answer but you got a perfect shrug
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| To
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| Throw the throat that golds the cope that slows hope
|
| In the blood
|
| Cold in the drug
|
| Tow of show
|
| And no
|
| Thing
|
| But owe
|
| One wing and stole
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| Like coffee goes coal in the give of your guts
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| Dues polluting how you dust to dust and skull touch
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| Diesel in the weight of your words
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| Credo in the wish that you serve
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| Eye teeth to the curb of age
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| Blues thief in a serge of days
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| Of sun over flesh
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| And Cease over breath
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| Spitting light from a cracked rock
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| Supporting life with your back stock
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| Watched wall clock never turns
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| Gotta push big and little hands to shape what you earn
|
| The law of diminishing returns
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| Is all death and taxes
|
| It’s gonna happen
|
| Till that day we stay button pushing and rapping
|
| All of these poems take place in the space between various bills
|
| On the edge of a bed or the wiles of a fool hero’s cloud black and clear head
|
| Best digested in a pair of 100 dollar headphones
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| Or in a dive bar on the back of a microphone
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| You can’t go eye for an eye
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| Alone on yourself
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| For too long you loose sight
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| Begin to see yourself as death
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| On the mic
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| Low level life
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| Poor chooser of fights
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| Disbeliever of hype
|
| All raw eye and no sight
|
| Alone in the light of your death on the mic
|
| Or the sword of poor choice in life
|
| Disbelief and diffuse hypes
|
| This is yet another record about we and our littling
|
| Something sensitive and naked out of song that we’re whittling
|
| Bigger than the middle man up
|
| You is or you isn’t
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| A thing of fragile or a cross section of wreckage
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| To which our living clings |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Crosssection of Wreckage, artist - Themselves. Album song The Free Houdini Deluxe, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп