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    Saafir the Saucee Nomad »

    Saafir the Saucee Nomad Bent текст песни


    I’ve been down this corridor
    Before you enter you have to bring
    Back the creator of winter damn
    Too late I’m spoiled I need the napalm
    I got it I shot it in my left sector
    Blew up the timing device on the reactor.
    Time shifted I had to remold the floor
    The foundation for creation mate’s blend
    The pleasure dome into another roam
    A walk stalked nightly by the ogre
    That’s rarely sober. But there’s no tracin
    I see the place in the flow. I’m beyond dawn,
    No I’m not in the lawn under pawns -
    Don’t rest, never possessed stagnate magnets.
    I never pulled slits lips wit no braille skilled eyes -
    Balls through eyesockets. I’m currently current
    Currents of electricity; They can’t get wit me
    Invisible to the retina half — way reality part limbo.
    A nervous laugh while ya climbin through windows,
    Never spin ho’s on merry-go-rounds,
    Be the ground level for ghouls, schools of fish,
    Victims on a hit list me like Geronimo on a pratt -
    Tackle patt tacklin patterns addin in seasonings, flavor.
    No false teeth for beef, catapulting fingers to light
    Switches so you can see the real, I feel the tension
    My sight twitches — I’m bent.

    Second Scene: I’m the star in a step show
    Around corners, the coroner’s office;
    Where my rep grows. I’m on some sort of drug
    Like the President, it’s evident that I’m noid,
    A little bit of pizza — the riddle gets deeper.
    I’m lookin for outs n ins, stolen isotonas,
    The gloves, the bout begins three jabs on a transport
    It’s a sport for me to take another life on landing,
    Branding wit a prattle prod designed by God.
    It’s my job to resign frauds,
    The odd is against you got a degree in me,
    So I know that I flow, credentials are essential -
    It’s blasphemy the type of shit they be askin me.
    I don’t feel the vibe, abstract art the veal
    Doesn’t heal this deprived stomach from a plummet.
    Swinging on a duet with the bullet.
    I never pull out for suspense — I’m on a bent mission.

    Jack Cousteau couldn’t take it no deeper -
    I’m a resident in Davey Jones micro-locker
    Holds the phone, foamin at the mouth:
    Mad Dog, a taste, never had hog I’m droppin
    The scrooge, makin fools hit the log — axe it.
    I seen it beneath where the cowards hope
    Trembled sleeper see if you can find the lost
    Treasure through measures in bars — I’m bent.

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