lirik lagu dmt – jack jetson
(verse 1: jack jetson)
i bring slaughter to hordes of humans with sick torture
the angry bees, mix anti freeze with still water
galleries of encrypted pictures, in the super market, sprinkle dmt on the pic of mixes
66’s, living in a risky business
twisted sickness, stock opposite of richy riches
kiss the lips of the grim reaper, the mark of the beast branded on the head of the gate keeper
this ain’t h-ll, blood, it’s way deeper
no way to play and beat the game, and no way to escape either
brov, i blaze cheeba, never slack, though i stay eager, crawl like 8-legged cave creeper
superhero cape, leap across building tops
children lost, trapped in the potency of silky crops
milky drops through the dreary fog in the smog
froze-over log flumes, fumes from the shaman god
psychoactive frog, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog
rattle for the crackle on the -n-log, browse the back catalog you’re level low like alcohol in alcopops and you can get drowned in hot battery acid
in an animated vessel like jessica, its jack the rabbit
with a sack of cabbage, smoking on a m-ssive carrot
the transparent, bandwagon, sand dragon, babylon, phantasm
plasma strand, hand cannon, bang bang em’, mutated rap phantom
dark room lit up by the black lantern
mind track, random, air craft crash landin’
inter dimensional war until it’s last man standin’
(verse 2: jack jetson)
injure in the shadows, sword flinging back your arrows
grand master leaver rapper, swinging from the gallows
sh-t is f-cking rago’s
modern day robin hood, coming for your crop of bud, foot runnin’ across the woods
f-ck a box of goods, i bop with a box of tricks
box ya lips, spinnin’ helicopter kicks’ll block your l1cks
on the eve of the apocalypse, i cotch with lit spliffs of that broccoli sh-t, sip on a vodka mix
the opposite of everyone, robotic like i’m megatron
the berry (?), the cheese (?), the chronic’s very strong
pick a mix, very long spliff that i build, i flip the double l, sip my drink, triple distilled
unlimited k!lls, the thought of it giving me chills
born in the city, never lived in the hills, addicted to thrills
fake name tag: christopher mills
on a mission till what’s hidden in my history spills
i’m on some stealth sh-t, plus i only think about myself- pr-ck
i’ll f-ck up your health quick, choke you with a felt tip and hang you from your garden fence, smell the lager stench
half drenched, clark kent, sitting on the park bench
arms hench, you can get l1cked with the car wrench
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