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A Gust Inside The God
Youngblood Brass Band
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
Like what
A trophy next to me
An analog, a metaphor, a synecdoche
An argument for a snap vasectomy
A median that means your hands have atrophied
Immediate discourse
I mediate six swords
A media trick horse
In medias res, dorks
Drop right here when you're ready to bounce
Fifteen years, Youngblood, get down
Stay out of sight from the stars and critics
I've evaded the shit-hitting, fans are with it
Guard the color well yep, flags, get it
I'm gonna set it off, you go home and shed it
I heard you twice the first time you said it
Keep rhymes embedded
Each guy a veteran pro at murdering shows
Burgers and bros
Your sentences blow
My sentences
A death: one on my bed for breakfast
My best hope: make it hot and forget this
Make good on a promise to rep this
Make fire by sparking a set list
Have a ball, set a light, throw it up, don't look, do work
Just keep walking
Cause it's all just a night in a club in a book
Truth hurts
Please stop talking
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
At the city with the most love for brass bands:
NOLA, the Crescent, where cats are playing
Tambourine like a Mardi Gras Indian
Need a beat? Uncle Lionel, that's the man!
Bring the heat on a motherfucking frying pan
Like the world commanded you to hit this here
Hoe blade, cowbell, bottle of beer
All signs of work turned to fire tonight
The kind of symphonies America doesn't like
Who cares, they got a word no one else can write
And why does all our good work got to come out of strife
The baddest kid you'll never hear is in New Orleans for life
So here's a simile, love
I'm like a mic with a cord running from Wisconsin to the 6th Ward
Where there's a drummer in a grave marked "Shavers"
And I bet he's still wearing a Hot 8 shirt
The earth's got a funny kind of paydirt
Yo Dinerral, plug me in, I gotta say words
Because I missed the funeral and the parade, sir
And I'm sorry your memorial's a lame verse, but
Have a ball, set a light, throw it up, don't look, do work
Just keep walking
Cause it's all just a night in a club in a book
Truth hurts
Please stop talking
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
You don't look
compositores: D henzie-skogen
Você é fã de Youngblood Brass Band? Gosta da letra da música?
Compartilhe com seus amigos.
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
Like what
A trophy next to me
An analog, a metaphor, a synecdoche
An argument for a snap vasectomy
A median that means your hands have atrophied
Immediate discourse
I mediate six swords
A media trick horse
In medias res, dorks
Drop right here when you're ready to bounce
Fifteen years, Youngblood, get down
Stay out of sight from the stars and critics
I've evaded the shit-hitting, fans are with it
Guard the color well yep, flags, get it
I'm gonna set it off, you go home and shed it
I heard you twice the first time you said it
Keep rhymes embedded
Each guy a veteran pro at murdering shows
Burgers and bros
Your sentences blow
My sentences
A death: one on my bed for breakfast
My best hope: make it hot and forget this
Make good on a promise to rep this
Make fire by sparking a set list
Have a ball, set a light, throw it up, don't look, do work
Just keep walking
Cause it's all just a night in a club in a book
Truth hurts
Please stop talking
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
At the city with the most love for brass bands:
NOLA, the Crescent, where cats are playing
Tambourine like a Mardi Gras Indian
Need a beat? Uncle Lionel, that's the man!
Bring the heat on a motherfucking frying pan
Like the world commanded you to hit this here
Hoe blade, cowbell, bottle of beer
All signs of work turned to fire tonight
The kind of symphonies America doesn't like
Who cares, they got a word no one else can write
And why does all our good work got to come out of strife
The baddest kid you'll never hear is in New Orleans for life
So here's a simile, love
I'm like a mic with a cord running from Wisconsin to the 6th Ward
Where there's a drummer in a grave marked "Shavers"
And I bet he's still wearing a Hot 8 shirt
The earth's got a funny kind of paydirt
Yo Dinerral, plug me in, I gotta say words
Because I missed the funeral and the parade, sir
And I'm sorry your memorial's a lame verse, but
Have a ball, set a light, throw it up, don't look, do work
Just keep walking
Cause it's all just a night in a club in a book
Truth hurts
Please stop talking
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
You have a ball
You set alight
You throw it up
You don't look
You don't look
compositores: D henzie-skogen
Você é fã de Youngblood Brass Band? Gosta da letra da música?
Compartilhe com seus amigos.
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