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lirik lagu call us now – dead players

[jam baxter]
(yeah… i’m a smelly… little naughty… leprechaun. leprechaun!)

[verse 1: jam baxter]
here we are again
sitting in the back seat
racking up, chewin’ up an evening
speeding around in a burning whip
with the barbecue town in the background steaming
i can feel the night weaving
wrapping my skin in its colourful phlegm
cause i just been tripping for 24 hours
reality stuck in my stomach again
guzzle the chems, you ain’t helping
looking like a waxwork statue melting
form in a pool with a footwell bubbling
stewed eyes bobbled at the surface, delve in
somebody look for my brain in the glovebox
cram it back in through the ear
i swear these people have got my mug shot
flea ridden dogs are what can smell fear
weird, but i’m into that
choose a dimension, mix and match
i stood there feeling like fritz the cat
and some f-cked up pug trying to interact
so i plastered my face to the core of the bashment
eyes like a tourist attraction
these exceptional hydraulic hands can juice the whole room in just one smooth action
imagine, i ain’t landing
whole crew stuck to the ceiling skanking
lemme gargle the souls of the clientele
spit ’em in the sink while he’s still standing
i never get left with the wastemen
run that drunk and evasive manoeurve
for just five litres of fresh warm blood
you can call us to order your place in my future

[hook]
yep, call us now, i said call us now
i’ll answer in one ring, come backstage with the fam in a while and we’ll all come round
call us now, (raja!) i said call us now
we’ll drive by on a sky high wave, when we’re this high you ain’t gonna talk us down

[verse 2 – dabbla]
(erm… yeah…)
i got a thing about k!lling it
had a dream the team became m-ssive
woke up, felt peak for a little bit
but all i could think about was “just smashed it!”
we ain’t had one rehearsal
but we did get high and we talked about hiring out
been busy with the wyling out
forget bars and i’ll style it out
me old china plate
wide awake, i got the backvard thunder palm
wunderbar, that’s when it comes apart
you’ll get flipped from the underarm
andělé, drop these styles for play
i think i got piles today and tiles to spray
and sumn’ i’d rather… f-ck it, i was miles away
oh yeah i’m in a band, touring the land
trying to be more than a man
getting that money in the hand
but there’s nothing that funny in the can
open it up, but don’t let it out
even if you see me roaming about
guaranteed everything’s kosher
even in a raincoat
look, i just won’t get it out (flash!)
sounds like a vibe, f-ck it
i ain’t been down here in time
who’s that? bound to be live
swear down, better than a gouge in the eye
or a powdery high
make your whole gospel sound like a lie
even though they heard it a thousand odd times
still got ’em wondering “how did he fly?”

[dabbla]
(ah you mean the tune that, that hasn’t been made yet… aha, that one, yeah? yeah, that one… ah man, i just… yeah. f-ck knows.)

- dead players

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