Al Jourgensen from BLKTCHP2 by Sankofa
one more fix
Tracklist
| 7. | Al Jourgensen | 3:40 |
Lyrics
The rap baccalaureate fracturing acts so glorious
After attacks the morgue begins overflowing with war we binge
Orchids from Kevorkian, sticking a fork in him
The grim reaper use the scythe to wipe fedora lint
No time for tourists I rhyme remorseless supplying forces
Out for fame…with names trailing on the iron horses
Flyer torsions, my adidas back in days before
Kirby Puckett made them face the cord, names are made in gore
Parade velour phraseology, I’m staying pure
Filet the policy, my basic ways acknowledge grief
A slug sliding on the razorblade and falls asleep
Sacrificial lambs, lay upon the altar weak
Spatter patterns on the sherling, flip the flavor higher
A cold world triple axel on the paper tigers
Late arrivals swearing loyalty on ancient bibles
The taste of metal, gushing redness, 80 shaken rivals
Reward the pen with a gorgeous blend, for sure it’s dense
No more pretense, No silver spoons, I got a sword to bend
It’s Uri Geller with acerbic relish serving zealots
A magic carpet ride, hop along the Persian relic
Circus pellets turn to landmines insides are turning out
Record numbers not the 45 or 33 and third
My secrets submerged, never blinking at the periscope
I deepen the urge, releasing some words for those who dare to hope
And there it goes, Ben Franklin anchored varicose
Shivers shudder from the heavens to the cherubs scared to grow
Prepare below because above is where the monsters dwell
Gators lurking for the gaunt gazelle need speed to taunt them well
I started early, playing keyboards of fontanelles
My heart is churning taking seashores with constant swells
The darkness turning into narcotic detours
Al Jourgensen, one more fix and it’ll be cured
No fortune spent beyond the time invested, seismic effort
Dive inside the wreckage, my saliva slices diamond treasure
I go against the grain, crosscuts, no time to measure
Rotgut sitting in the citizen with flight endeavors
Buckle up the harness fasten clips lock it down well
No time for g-force to rearrange the count felt
Slaughterhouse, canary coal mine the cowbell
Bought them out, prepare the whole shrine pronounce hell
Town criers voices echo in the empty streets
Yodeling a dirge, death’s cousin with a frenzied feast
Family reunions where the REM is carving them
Lucid dreaming choose your own adventure then we start again
Paralyzed, the walls are closing in, it’s hard to breathe
My ribcage grabs my heart and lungs and then it starts to squeeze
The bony fingers of panic attacks that slowly linger
And never seem to fully leave indeed they grow to cinder
