Sweet Dreams
Quelle: Spotify
[Verse 1]
I sit in a dark room
With nobody but myself and
Puttin' on my thoughts unto this bottle I got off this shelf I know I need help
For the fact I was contemplatin' on my death as suicide gettin somebody to rob but I post up right here with the tech now
Lolligaggin' with their life and
Thinkin' bout cookin your noodle poppin' your top on off with the knife and
Brain fraidin' to the nightstand
I know but not as cold as some of these hoes been in my refrigerator freezin' cheaper screamin' it was froze
One oh no
Bloody toes and elbows
I was standin' one foot from that motherfucker when he whispered
(Please no...)
But there was nobody there that could save me though
From the monstrous chef
Knife cut you with the Freddy stripes and that hides you to death
The real Michael Myers
No Rob Zombie
No motherfuckin' Dr. Loomis
Just one sick individual off of a one-fifty-one when think when I do this
Just black out
Wake up the next day covered in blood and guts
With pieces of nuts
Leakin with the puss
And brains and kidneys stickin' to my chucks I know it sounds fucked
[Verse 2]
I know it sounds fucked up
I can't help it
And I really mean this
Use the music as a plead for help, hell believe it I really seen it the old English
Got me beatin away at my penis
'Till it throb
Lookin' like a corn on the cob
Balls bigger than Venus
Runnin up into the pep when they seen us
Like the motherfucker was the reaper bustin'
Tryin to be tough and
Now they're sufferin' the repercussions
Midsections gushin'
Thinkin this last thought's for be all trophy (Try to say somethin')
But they cannot talk with a mouth full filled up with the hatred
Never rest until you meet your doom
Hit a nigga with a quick kaboom
Quick kill 'em and then I'm on the move
I'ma find out in the dune buggy
Rollin down the street with nothin' but swisher sweet and saloon money (you know)
Somebody toast this drink for me
Keep your opinions to yourself
I don't need nobody to think for me
You motherfuckers all stink to me
If you ask me, fuck it I'ma keep it to myself
Heater on the shelf
You can keep your health
Hearin' like an elf
Creepin' on the stealth
I know it sounds cold
[Verse 3]
It's cold
Drinkin' thinkin with the venom
Pistol packin' with the get 'em
Our motherfuckers like denim
Their niggas' faces like linen
Lookin' like a pretzel when I bend 'em
Nigga you choose what sidaz
Everyone's still beside us
Nigga the whose who's and the Ridaz
No survivors, everybody dyaz'
Horror movies
Gore movies
More movies
With blood and guts and more uzis
More gruely
Automatic weapons causin' death and more goolies
More frames
More bloodstains and brains oozin'
Damn now, sick individual I be tryin' to be gettin' off of this east or
Eatin' orangutan and chilled monkey brains for dessert
Can I get off until he's hurt
Puttin' bullets in it with the four-fifth
Really into witchcraft
Don't play with no hocus pocus
And I gotta be the dopest
Cause I'm so promotious
Might overdose on my own shit
Hit the sure spit (you need to relax though)
Runnin' with the perm hit
Bitch you ain't learned shit? (Say what?)
Tell me when you've had enough or
Get your guts tucked in the cut with brains and kidneys stickin' to my chucks
I know it sounds fucked
Zeige deinen Freunden, dass dir Sweet Dreams von Twisted Insane gefällt:
Kommentare