lirik lagu cyanide and silicone - crawl space
(whoo, yeah, dude)
[hook x4]
i ain’t lying, dead cops in my bas~m~nt
[verse 1]
check my chat logs online
keep a buck~knife on the waistline
brin be used to the wasteland life
so me and dale take your life
yes, we pack gun, tag a thick tongue
bonafide fried ass cheek meat on the taste buds
jack risked it all on titanic you dumbass b~tches
if your ship was sinking too aren’t you thinking that you would panic?
c~ck the f~cking gun and blast the knees off of a mannequin
at dillards, i’m number 13 like millard fillmore
swerving in a jeep, the beep boys got the shmeat
and i’m really gonna smackle my salami on your t~~th
brian doеsn’t mean to ever do this sh~t on purposе
i’m just stealing purses
burping zachy shirtless at the f~cking circus
every now and then i’m going psycho
leave my ass alone and do not touch it unless you try to
take your bicycle and your push start car parked in your backyard
watch joey wreck the bike in your front yard
got poison ivy nuggets growing in a bucket
at my cousins, every now and then i pluck em and say f~ck it
f~ck it, smoking leaves of three will get you puffin
pretty soon your feeling nothing
so i point the f~cking gun and smoke your nugget with it
[hook x4]
i ain’t lying, dead cops in my bas~m~nt
[verse 2]
blue jeans, popping two beans
driving in a two seat police chief wagon from the 50’s
new meat for your new b~tch
living like she never got a hot tard c~ck on her cool t~~th
i switch the flow up, stab a mother f~cker and let out a boa~
constrictor in your family home
shouldn’t have been a h0m~ around a cobra
dale’s been funny since college
it doesn’t take a lot but i like a lot b~tch
i really go dumb when i shoot the wrong b~tch
it’ll take time for me to stop this
suckle on my b~lls and get off my c~ck b~tch
locking the bas~m~nt, they calling a locksmith
tear your ass up like some betty crock mix
serve your ass up with some chinese chop sticks, uh
uh, she wanted a murderer
uh, she got what she wanted
uh, she wanted a murderer
so i point the gun at your head
rambo strapped back with the lead
and enough ammo stacked back in the shed
off with their heads, off, off with their heads
roll around in the grass till my f~cking backs red
chill out one minute, slapping your face your hat be spinning
slipping the slag in the f~cking kitchen
wonder what brian’s making for dinner?
at dale’s house, man there’s no silverware
eating with my fingers
i be slopping and gagging, i need some silverware
(whoo, yeah, dude)
[hook x8]
i ain’t lying, dead cops in my bas~m~nt
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