Jam Baxter - The Infamous Gatwick Meltdown Of 2016 lyrics

Yeah the stewardess screams "Stay back he
Ain't welcome in Gatwick"
Captain, pull out the hatchet
Scalp that child, rip holes in his fabrics
Slip that clingfilm outta the wallet
Flip that switch, now we're all psychotic
A gurgling drainpipe sounds hypnotic
Stain on the pavement becomes iconic
The lights dim and the hummingbird whispers
"Them man are all feds
And they're deeply religious"
You are their Damien, this is your sickness
Pinhole cameras stitched in your fingers
Had some pilled up, threesome at Christmas
Now I'm at departures deleting the pictures
Fry my face up eating the witness
They're gonna hang you plead for forgiveness
Swinging from a plank in Dubai
In these ten ton sandals
Bright red sand in the mouth
I was chewing through handfuls
That shopfront mannequin just told me they'll
Be coming for my neckline
I just saw an ice cold summer in my red wine
They ain't on side
I ain't fucking with 'em next time
Them four hookers must of been
Working for the feds
Cackling on Green Lanes, worshipping the dead
With these jet black choppers
All circling our heads
In economy, drunk and asleep
Bunch of miniatures dumped at my feet
Reality's boarded a flight to Bermuda and
Crumbled to dust in his seat eh

Sock in the mouth
Get the fuck out the terminal
You left your mind at a shotter's in South
Minor malfunction keep me on pause
Internal combustion (yeah)
Flesh on the floors

Smashing the rush of it
Couple of silhouettes stuck in it
I will question this chick 'til
She cracks and admit's
She spy with a gun in her underwear
The lady in pink is a fraud and a liar
Text all your bredrins and call 'em Messiah
Your body erupted this song in it's sleep
Your various guises are forming a choir
He walks waist deep in the floor
See the ripples in the marble
Took one more line then fired
Every missile in the arsenal
Wear the room like a fishnet
Face tangled in half-spun silk
On the curb pulling cards from a trick deck
Front-crawling in last month's milk
The kid sneaked in with a score
Tryna bid for his brain back
I feel for the cheapskate
Weeks wedged under a West End manhole
Mummified wrapped up in reels of police tape
The creep at the wheel can't see straight
Ran through a whole crew
Of actors and stooges
All shipped in to assess the delusions
Escape with a tooth and a handful of bruises
Yeah i was gone for a couple
Bit the pinky ring off at the knuckle
Back on the block with a muzzle, a body
An Aspide shot on a shovel
Sorry doctor, he's trouble
He suffers from temporary dementia
Created a world in the bowels of the
City and plastered himself to the centre

Sock in the mouth
Get the fuck out the terminal
You left your mind at a shotter's in South
Minor malfunction keep me on pause
Internal combustion flesh on the floors

Flesh on the floors