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lirik lagu silver tar – jak tripper

“he be saying, he be doing real wicked stuff. he does real nerd stuff. and then the lord says to him, cast off one’s skin. and shift wind.”
“supercoven sh-t man. jak tripper. bring that sh-t in man.”

yo these kids made me sp-wn
they tried to pick my brain apart, but they say it’s like a cave explored
haven’t made it back from vaca, long stays since i ate the frog
stay indoors, taking cake from brawds
bait the fonze
stranglation, their face stay the yawn
drag the wasted off
drag their vacant corpse across the hallway into the adjacent door
by the lake they found eight or more
the audience size live, much like the spectators of gacy’s lawn
desperate addict, k!lling for highs, i go crazy for
raiding morgues, robbing vet clinics and rabies wards
they say it’s always the patients fault
i told em i felt sick but they gave me more

(as life descends ?? ??, of antichrist. stand by the ?? tower, 18 dynamite, with tags and bags of ?? chicken and cold chips, telling their dreams of life for no money. money is a sin.”

so i popped the last scripts, said bye to mom and paps with the last kiss
watch the m-ss lift, bones and bottled ashes
the sh-t i’m on would make albert fish turn in his toppled casket
missing models from college pagents
found with their nostrils bashed in
dump sites prolific like donald gaskins
i watch college cl-sses
evening with night vision goggle gl-sses
let’s all ride the block
i couldn’t tell you what level i was on
what i did to those girls was mortifying
but you couldn’t tell me that when i putting her nylons on
(on, back on her body)
i’d jump a fire rings on carcauses piled to the hills cried the gods
f-ck writers block
what i lug is heavy than ?? china blocks
tend to the sheep, i’ll k!ll entire flock
milligrams kind of subside and calm
fillet the herd to thai food
sell their guts hung up on wires propt
writer’s log
my mind’s a swamp
with the house in the middle sinking on it’s side
i only did dope cause i tried to nod
whispers and wines won’t stop
they cry for red tides to wash
fingernail tips chipped off on kitchen tile rod
tied to unidentified foreign body fiber bonds
the dead still tied to watch
the rush winds my clock
bleach new remains rubbed entire bomb
if you think these are just rhymes they’re not

- jak tripper

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