Atmosphere, Brother Ali - Cats Van Bags lyrics
[Atmosphere, Brother Ali - Cats Van Bags lyrics]
I can't scratch, cause I'm drunk
I got bad teeth and my gums are bleeding
Come and fucking get me, motherfucker
Yeah, break, start the song now, fucker
We traveling the missle
Weaving through your cornfields
Leaving behind a trail of amateur
Porn and orange peels
Navagatin' through this basement
That masquerades as a nation
Practising my acetate masturbation
Watching the expressions on the faces
Of them ones designated to
Be the queens, kings, and aces
How many miles can you put on one sole
Before the smile starts to blend
Into one big bullet hole
Shoot through it as a unit
With the best of my crew
Bumping melodies and memories too
My head's killing me, ooh
Stomach empty, my bladder is full
Two-year-old son on Jaybird's phone cryin'
You missing me
And I'm starving, I'll bite your arm off
Sabertooth Tiger
Run the night with the sharp claws
In your backyard just to fuck
With your guard dog
Throw a brick through your shit
And cut the alarm off bitch
Fuck yes
I do my best to take advantage in bouts
With one hand over the mouth
Still managin' to shout
There's more said within the
Lines on your forehead
Than they could ever try to fine-print
On the inside of that warhead
Cross country, like a little lost junkie
Make them hot and jumpy
Trying to get that God money
Steering the van through the blizzards
The fanfare pivot when we visit
Spit victim if you stand there
Take a map of this picture
Throw a dart at it, that's where
We took a room back full of kids
And threw our heart at it
Angry like a hostage
Kicking like a little bitch in
One of Dibbs's mosh pit's
Shifting through your city limit's trying
To find the raw shit
Thread a needle with it, and weave
A world of heads together
Till we get 'em car sick
Face full of war paint, strapped
Ready for action battle cracks heading
Trying to seek the satisfaction
Of the captain
Climbed over the side, closed his eyes
Took a dive into his fame
Inspiration for staying alive
Swam to the shore, stepped upon land
Walked up to a whore, grabbed her by the hand
And said
Let the wheels spin, let the road shake
Let the speakers blow
Let the line in, let the kids play
Let the people know
Let the roof burn, let the girls love
Let the heat flow
Let the world turn, let the curtains up
Cats Van Bags, Yo
Lock eyes with a thousand people
At the same time they minds believing this
My style of graffiti is
Squeezing just the midwest sweat
Out of my shirt
And leaving with my life essence
Embedded in your dirt
We work, move
And hustle with the rest of the gypsies
Spoon feed these issues to a
New school of fishies
Swimming through a hazy shade of passion
Here they come, the Hazleton has-been
And his chaplain
Yeah, that's them, the migrants
Seasonal workers
The finest imperial wordsmiths on the circuit
Two million smiles and runnin', stomping
Trying to flee the heat turn around
Shooting at the monster till
His knees are weak
They call me Jesus Freak, I came to listen
Then I save you
Then I make you my favorite position
Chasin' this pigeon down the
Street towards the banks
Just in case my traffic
Receives jeeps and tanks
And we wander through this soul
So let it be known
Mama I don't know if I'mma ever be home
The revolution won't have any distribution
I love my son and my music
So I gotta keep it moving like
I got bad teeth and my gums are bleeding
Come and fucking get me, motherfucker
Yeah, break, start the song now, fucker
We traveling the missle
Weaving through your cornfields
Leaving behind a trail of amateur
Porn and orange peels
Navagatin' through this basement
That masquerades as a nation
Practising my acetate masturbation
Watching the expressions on the faces
Of them ones designated to
Be the queens, kings, and aces
How many miles can you put on one sole
Before the smile starts to blend
Into one big bullet hole
Shoot through it as a unit
With the best of my crew
Bumping melodies and memories too
My head's killing me, ooh
Stomach empty, my bladder is full
Two-year-old son on Jaybird's phone cryin'
You missing me
And I'm starving, I'll bite your arm off
Sabertooth Tiger
Run the night with the sharp claws
In your backyard just to fuck
With your guard dog
Throw a brick through your shit
And cut the alarm off bitch
Fuck yes
I do my best to take advantage in bouts
With one hand over the mouth
Still managin' to shout
There's more said within the
Lines on your forehead
Than they could ever try to fine-print
On the inside of that warhead
Cross country, like a little lost junkie
Make them hot and jumpy
Trying to get that God money
Steering the van through the blizzards
The fanfare pivot when we visit
Spit victim if you stand there
Take a map of this picture
Throw a dart at it, that's where
We took a room back full of kids
And threw our heart at it
Angry like a hostage
Kicking like a little bitch in
One of Dibbs's mosh pit's
Shifting through your city limit's trying
To find the raw shit
Thread a needle with it, and weave
A world of heads together
Till we get 'em car sick
Face full of war paint, strapped
Ready for action battle cracks heading
Trying to seek the satisfaction
Of the captain
Climbed over the side, closed his eyes
Took a dive into his fame
Inspiration for staying alive
Swam to the shore, stepped upon land
Walked up to a whore, grabbed her by the hand
And said
Let the wheels spin, let the road shake
Let the speakers blow
Let the line in, let the kids play
Let the people know
Let the roof burn, let the girls love
Let the heat flow
Let the world turn, let the curtains up
Cats Van Bags, Yo
Lock eyes with a thousand people
At the same time they minds believing this
My style of graffiti is
Squeezing just the midwest sweat
Out of my shirt
And leaving with my life essence
Embedded in your dirt
We work, move
And hustle with the rest of the gypsies
Spoon feed these issues to a
New school of fishies
Swimming through a hazy shade of passion
Here they come, the Hazleton has-been
And his chaplain
Yeah, that's them, the migrants
Seasonal workers
The finest imperial wordsmiths on the circuit
Two million smiles and runnin', stomping
Trying to flee the heat turn around
Shooting at the monster till
His knees are weak
They call me Jesus Freak, I came to listen
Then I save you
Then I make you my favorite position
Chasin' this pigeon down the
Street towards the banks
Just in case my traffic
Receives jeeps and tanks
And we wander through this soul
So let it be known
Mama I don't know if I'mma ever be home
The revolution won't have any distribution
I love my son and my music
So I gotta keep it moving like