lirik lagu jak tripper - passing over
(david: i don’t want to do these anymore.-pete: oh, don’t be silly. -i’m not being silly, pete. it’s just demeaning. it’s a load of idiots.-they loved you. -they didn’t love me, they didn’t care. if they love me, why were they throwing stuff? throwing water, plastic bottles, underpants. one bloke threw a pair of y-fronts, hit me in the face, yeah, and i knew it was nutella or marmite he’d smudged on the gusset. but it was still him going, “that’s what we think of you mate. you’re sh-t.”) [from the office – christmas special]
[boxguts]
crash your splash, red waves under surfboards
smash sprinkler stakes through face during turf wars
machete swing at your king, my team murk yours
your weak sh-t ain’t cutting it with your f-cking nerf swords
perverse thoughts gets slors to squirt for us
the industry needs more sleaze working these wh0r-s like a workhorse
dirt pours through floors
the earth’s laws
burstin cores through their source
like birth when i exert force
surfaces scorched
burnt towards
where all their curling nerves formed
reverse the torch
march and alert cursed hordes
with curved h-rns
carve, invert
and then serve gourds
to cyborgs who curse thy lord
pry and insert forks
high on my high horse lost
this he-rs- warm i’m sure like furs warn
sure, these herbs strong
boy i’m getting my swerve on
chauffeur a foul pile of corpses around in a universe galore
birds torn, absurd p-rn
it’s pure raw
we’re all germs sp-wned, deformed
abnorm gore
and every serpent around here want to slither through the church doors
(nothing. i was chained to a radiator. boring. next. and what’s he done since? nothing. i’ve got anecdotes. i’ve got stuff to say, if people would listen, but they won’t.) [more from the office – christmas special]
[jak tripper]
yo
ascending earth god
i got an armageddon gas rag
at the saviour’s birth spot
ready to burn the first plot
i’ll bird watch
fly over the benefit of mr. kite
ringing out ergot
bergamot suitcase to herb spot
this heavy as 9000 bc
the first trip off of the smurf tops
i’m on a couch, good for nothing
like a burnt pops
nerves shot
by the door watching
apparitions turn kn-bs
i’m hay baling hooks behind bars
with shank poking
spitting molten, occultic
groupies can suck me stiff, blowing
stiff, i got a bas-m-nt
with dead strippers stiff below it
shedding skin, molting
front yard garden of roses
exposing hands: sticking out emulsion
write every verse claustrophobic
like i was snowed in
a wicked omen
big black barrel
looking like a witch’s cauldron
(now if that’s a waste of money “but it is a waste of money cause you didn’t even get on top on to it.” good, didn’t want it to. next.) [more from the office]
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