Themselves - Gold Teeth Will Roll lyrics

What is this place?
These men with gold where there
Words break and they end
Their time keeping nothing but
Stone and fool gold
Stones worth the weight of
Ten working class winters
Leading beginners to the skull in their wish
If their was one

What is this place?
Where greed came into all the mouths
Like empty does the chest
And spoke nothings in the pitch of street
And the worn heart of a hound
Like a dim machine twitching in
The chest of potential

Who will come kill me?
When I call all these men milk made of weak
Fat with numb as they dish dung to the hunger
It is an echo of yourself in this world
That you’re hearing them yell

Who will come kill me?
Taking their rings off like women
Because I will swear on their weakness
They are the gunned sons of what’s done
Latter day knights
Weakened at the bone with the
Weight of their poor words
A lot of riskless mopes on the turn
Of a coin around in their throats
Lips leaking the poison eating at
The honor of rap
Forcing blood from the cunning of kids
From the future of things
So they are starved for
The gristle of meaning
That which can be gnashed between
Teeth and never ate only passed

For real, save the children

So I call them
I call them lambs to the lion they steal from
And sick my pen on their thinnest of ghosts
And do know they don’t wake and
Take bullets with water like vitamins
No, they sleep hard in a silk thicket
And the cured skin of the scared and spent
And we know they will be
But ribs in the dirt
The sound of their songs gone
Mud in a landfill
Eyes filled with a crowd of maggots and muds

And so the young go numb
To the played bones of your weakness
Across the only once of what’s done

Gangster of trifles

Throw out your gold teeth and
See how they roll
Licking your wounds in a white kings lap
Falling in love with all guns
For rappers, there is no hell
There is only fans and you will go there

And you will be cut from the
Cave where your words sour
To the edge of your ears, and then strung
And then made to move with
The grace of what’s puppet till your cut
From the cave where your words sour
To the soul of son and then fed through
A fire to the dusk of what’s done

To the absence you grew circa
Your birth and a death
Your eyes filled with a crowd
Of maggots and mud
Jewelry loose on your bones
Like you were on your meaning

You ain't no pharoah you're
An aimless error