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lirik lagu echo chamber – syntax junkies

syntax if you ain’t with it then your sh-ts wack

tell any a & r suck a d-ck, junkies rugged spit
bustin sh-t thats combustable, fronters puff your lips
yo it’s nothing, just the untouchable grub of a troubled kid
running up a muck i couldn’t take another month of this
son it’s sick, bunch of pupils glued to the screen
while im maneuvering the viewers, using lucifers schemes
im loose in ya dreams, your misconstruing music it seems
these losers shooting droons with rugers ain’t in tune with the beat
you? me? tell me one difference, you don’t know
so tell me what the f-ck is it
its that im subsistant, your from a subsystem
queen bee tells you what to love and bugs listen
couldn’t f-ck with it, your brain matter
engrained with lame chatter
scroll page to page just waiting for the day thata
slay jackals, break factions, save packs and hate rappers
wanna save face, i save faces in a plate satchel
this ain’t natural, i sweat blood for the sacrifice
you just get numb and adjust to an average life
under the pump so you front on your battered wife
just another grunt in the tunnels of the maggot hive
thats the life, spinning cog lost in the dimming fog
scimming off top to reposte from the winnings lost
living long dropped in your 50s via hidden clot
p-ssing pot, living for submission and the ripping of

so if you think your rapping is sick you better sit the f-ck down and start rapping a spliff
and if you think your lyrics are dope you can shut the f-ck up and keep sniffing your c-ke

i was gonna make a list of rappers to diss
but i dont even think a single rapper exists
sh-t, even i dont rap and i know that, so why go back
and rather a nitro blast, to the face
coz ive been lookin cooked for days
in a hooded butcherz maze tryna book it from this place
look away, you wouldn’t wanna push it mate
coz if you tip me off the edge il f-ckin pull ya to ur grave
crooked snake, my b-lls are like a couple grenades
but double the weight, so when i bust, cover ya face
f-ckin disgrace, still stuck in this ill-strious maze
and im still takin pills still snuffin my mates
walk with the lamp light, stalkin ya camp site
throwin up a hand sign, ropin up my mans wife
can i just relax for a minute?
f-ck this anything you rap is a gimmick
so you act and you mimmick tryna practice
my lyrics like its fact but its fiction
and the tracks that ya spittin
f-ck off, how you gonna trash my religion?
yo your m-ss must be slippin through the cracks in ya fingers
blasted off inches and mashed under bridges
ya snapped in your fingers and rappin with midgets
ya p-ssions are mirrored in the trash that your bringing
to the table, just know you ain’t able to p-ss for gifted

so if you think your rapping is sick you better sit the f-ck down and start rapping a spliff
and if you think your lyrics are dope you can shut the f-ck up and keep sniffing your c-ke

mainline trains of thought, brain like (plains of orbits?)
lip rider spits fire in a paper form
all the flames are born, channeled from an ancient source
battling with rabble until your cattle is a safe to score
so wheres the flavour at? i just wanna savour that
the smorgasboard is not as raw im coppin all this tasteless cr-p
and i dont wanna make you mad but i think your tape is bad
you should reevaluate your life before you make a track
plannin’ songs with the hands of god, i just time myself
with a sandson watch, a candid shot to these branded pops
on abandoned lots, with the manson plot
phantom squad, showin up in random spots
coz my mans is lost in the land of rocks
and they dance along in a trancealot til they can’t no more
and their fam is gone

so if you think your rapping is sick you better sit the f-ck down and start rapping a spliff
and if you think your lyrics are dope you can shut the f-ck up and keep sniffing your c-ke

- syntax junkies

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