Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Infatuated , by - Travis ThompsonRelease date: 24.05.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Infatuated |
| It’s the season of the peasant, sneaking into Heaven |
| Creeping with my heathens, we do thievery in sevens |
| Got my demons on my guest list, Jesus on my necklace |
| I’ve been steaming on the roof, it smell like seasonal depression |
| Why the preacher need a lesson, I ain’t never listen |
| I was in-and-out, indifference -- trying to find a pot to piss in |
| 'Cause the one my Pops provided ain’t have the proper glisten |
| And it’s something 'bout the easy targets make me wanna lick 'em |
| I’m a problem child, draped in my Ecko polo and poppin' mad |
| Twistin' weed up, watching World Star beheadings, and clappin' loud |
| Off it round, a simple-minded, broke, and hopeless -- pray they pass |
| Kids like me, we find a bitch in ourselves and we fade they ass |
| Way, way back |
| Apple pipes with aim and flames and papers packed |
| Sippin' on my Maker’s Mark and trends incentives fade to black |
| They catch a glimpse of the moment you lose your sense of self |
| So if I go, you ain’t see shit |
| And, if I run, don’t send for help |
| I guess I’m still |
| Infatuated with death (death is nothing at all) |
| It’s safe to say that it’s never safe in my head |
| I’m infatuated with death (I only slip away into the next room) |
| I know I shouldn’t, but it feels so good |
| Infatuated with yes (nothing has happened) |
| Let it prowl for a while 'til it all fall down |
| Infatuated with stress (everything remains exactly) |
| I’m infatuated with death |
| Yeah, ayy |
| At my service, told the pastor, «post an open casket» |
| Throw it up on Craigslist, make it open to the masses |
| I’ve been grinning with my cracked lips |
| Lying through my baby teeth |
| Project my future for some momma |
| Too many -- hit play, repeat |
| A legend on the boulevard |
| Grew up with a gully squad |
| Kids who know exactly where they older brother’s bullets are |
| I musta been like 9 or something |
| 'Round the school we heard the news |
| Curiosity got 'em, the last we ever heard from you |
| That’s fucked up, ain’t it? |
| Now they «lunch-rush» famous |
| Now they fake-tell moments for kids who don’t know better |
| No, I don’t hold vendettas against the reaper -- we chill |
| My daddy pump-fake that motherfucker, then make us a meal |
| So, that’s just regular shit |
| No time to wrestle with this |
| My family pull up like, «where the drinks and the settlements is?» |
| I see the men I’m surrounded by, I’m no better than them |
| Like, why I want these bitches to like me at every event |
| When I got wifey at home |
| Something not right in my dome |
| I’m insecure and new pussy just be enticing alone |
| I came to grips with myself, and then I lost peace where it mattered |
| I’m too concerned with the ending, how they’ll remember me after |
| I’ll be forever |
| Infatuated with death (death is nothing at all) |
| It’s safe to say that it’s never safe in my head |
| I’m infatuated with death (I only slip away into the next room) |
| I know I shouldn’t, but it feels so good |
| Infatuated, we’re yes (nothing has happened) |
| Let it prowl for a while 'til it all fall down |
| Infatuated with stress (everything remains exactly) |
| I’m infatuated with death |
| Yeah, ayy |
| All is well |
| Nothing is hurt, nothing is lost |
| One brief moment and all will be as it was before |
| How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting |
| When we meet again |