Velvet Swamp

Текст песни Dead Players - Velvet Swamp

I represent myself, ain't one for telling tales
Puff a lot of Ls 'cause I love the way it smells
If you ask me it's cool as long as no one's getting raped
But film it just in case 'cause that devil shit sells
Everything is digital, can't afford a 12
No one wants them CDs sitting on the shelves
But if Gaga can sing about sucking mans off
And JLS can sell sex to underaged girls
Well I'ma do my thing and chuck it in the mix
If you ain't feeling it then you can suck a bag of dicks
'Cause I've been using words so long they've lost meaning
You can find my life's work scribbled 'cross the ceiling
In the meantime we'll gets to leaning, scratching for that meaning
Fuck about and catch it like a beating, please be seated
MCs are getting deleted, Dabl keep it
Gourmet fresh, your shit's reheated
Keep sleeping on it no one's gonna prosper
Watch the way we come and bring a wallop to your roster
I creep up on you while you're swallowing your Costa
Dead players running shit from Holloway to Gloucester
Murder the imposter for fronting like a mobster
Odds are you'll be screaming like a boiling lobster
So what's the fuss about, who the hell do you think you are?
Same deal, still the same guy, still pimping hard

I awake from a dream as a blurred mess
With my mouth still sore from screaming the word 'yes'
Every time I was asked if I needed a next beverage
Or if the views crisp from this mountain of dead hedonists
Last one standing, my shredded flesh felt the wrath
Of every cloud of smug and speck of powder on a stealth attack
I left them with the translucent Lucifer that held them back
Bitching about the rince they weren't welcome at
Peering through the keyholes for small sacks of floundering skin
Throwing towel after towel in the ring
I'm on a lifelong crutch, magnified white hot dots
Got the ants pranging out when the disguise washed off
Got my style on lock, sellotaped to my face
Decorated and labelled, a celebration awaits
With this whole city tangled in my beard weighing me down
And our chin scraping the ground like a generation of snakes
I'll swap the spare screen that I keep deep in my gullet
For a glass of dry white and a free seat at the summit
When it kicks off, I'm skiing off piste this evening
Flahing 'round the street lights bruised up and bleeding
My fam's still jamming, too spangled to run
With two legs in a ditch and these two tabs on my tongue
Repackage my brain and boot back to the slums
With a sign that reads 'decadence' blue tacked to my gum

I'll be that nicknamed prick James Kane from the bridge
Where the kids made mixtapes and paint when they're pissed
In our shit-stained kicks getting chased by the pigs
Where's my favourite shit from the days that we lived
And what a place to exist, my heart lies in New Street
Ever since Lew passed the pastimes have moved me
Our lives were boozy, maybe I'm just dreaming
Before I leave the club you'll have to scrape me off the ceiling
I buy a carload of avocados
And roam about laughing in pyjamas and a bathrobe
And at our shows you get a free dildo
And be thoroughly encouraged not to wear any real clothes
Just a hard hat, pair of the steel toes
Give my buzz back you dare try and steal those
Eels, crows, cats, dogs, mice, rats, stick insects
I'll put you in a pillowcase and chuck you in the river next
Suffering from liver stress
Fuck it I'll be nothing but a drunkard since I quit the breast
Love it, I'll be sucking it and fuck if any chicks impressed
A liquorhead to liquorheads and I'm in love with cigarettes
I went to hell and back again
And still got arrested by the devil with my sack of paint
Racking straight massive great stripes up a crystal lise
Sinking as the bitter rise, distance me and sympathise

The parrots on my shoulder spitting monologues, squawking
Why won't my feathered friend just stop talking?
Talking, jabbering about life stories
Channelling my thoughts in the sentences I taught him
Bun the parrot, dash him out the driver's seat
Flapping at redemption, getting flattered by your JCB
This tar-black tarmac spacks as the cars crash
Feathers flew skyward gracefully
Off road melee swerve under the low bridge
Plundered the pitstop, nobody noticed
Spitting venom in this summer city solstice
Off to another city gunning down these roads quick
It's like these people fail to notice
The 8-track brain trap muzzles on their noses
Pummelling the toe clips, hammering the pedals
Power slide the hairpins, gunning for the medals
See you in the meadows, speaking to the sunset
Even if the evil gushing evil wants to run red
Yeah we run red lights like we want death
Running like a pussy at a street fight, duncehead
This goes out to the wise men, Berks
With the packages of gold bars, frankincense and myrrh
Bun a Camel, exchange it for a monolithic curse
And join us gunning to your city necking whisky as we swerve