Underachiever

Qwel

    Continues after the ad

    [Verse 1]
    The space it takes to time travel ain't worth the effort
    Mic saddle mastadons to find Babylon the network
    As clear as it seems hi-fi makes it perfect
    This pyramid scheme with the eye at the vertex
    Serpents smell with your tongues and wait for blackouts
    Yo, for sure sex sells check wealth at the crack house
    Appachis don't stop, but the candle burns
    at both ends while most men just channel surf
    It's gonna take more then folded hands to part the skies
    So lets drown from the ground up

    Imperfection starts with I
    am god and god's not hard rock or worthy slaves
    Surfer make the paper sleep late, pray for early graves
    I hope we catch ebola, just what man deserves
    Built god with satellites, but couldn't handle earth
    It'll flood 'till the blood spills, but you still wouldn't believe it
    No control, alt, delete it
    I'm on my way to be it
    The time it takes to space travel ain't worth the distance
    If I could reach the remote from here then I convert the mission
    Worse then vision splitting headaches

    Continues after the ad

    What man's set on looking?
    These books are too heavy, plus the antenna's crooked
    The batteries are drained, I think I'll wait it out
    But way the pounds of apathy, I think I hate this couch
    We can slouch into a fetus, all we need is television
    With long spoons to feed us sex and exorcism
    Internet access to find our souls
    E-mail me dogs, cynical smiles and barcodes
    Homes are only shelters, only shelves of a man
    Remote is where the heart is, the heart is gettin' bent
    Yo, we can start right now, here in Chi-town
    I'll die if you have to, you know I'm down
    With an automatic bag of chips, the honeybun's out
    What channels the revolution on? the motherfucking couch

    [Verse 2]
    Cameras for the crips, like gifts for the thieves
    When he's only fifteen and got a tip from his seeds
    So whats kid gonna read, when clips is magazines?
    When god drowns we;re surrounded by fags and fiends
    Rapping teen actors on the magic screen
    Lies for halftime, why's he laughin' at me?
    Let the smoke flow out through his platic speech
    Patching dream jobs for slaves, saving half the fee
    Hack the feet off, at the khaki cuff
    Need batteries for windows, 'cause reality sucks
    Half to give up something right?
    The library's sold, meet us on the ones and twos in binary code
    Hypnotize my mind, is it time to explode?
    Is my spine a remote, or am I in control?
    As I portray this wisdom image actor see
    But why's this plastic thing, pointed back at me
    Pointed back at me (pointed back at me)

    Song details

    Composition:

    Did you see an error?

    Enviar revisão