lirik lagu jam baxter - banana shaped armor plates
[intro]
“a man can lose himself in london….”
yeah, i dedicated this one to celine dion, bonnie tyler…
[verse 1]
i was jamming in the perfect coc–n
furnish the room with your lost loves, hot sl-ts, stir with a spoon
in the cloth, cut, boshed up, served and consumed
welcome to life in your thermal balloon
reversible tomb, gas-powered hours stay static in a straight-jacket perched on the moon
where the serpent’s the blues (?)
and when a tower shakes nowadays bricks never burn in the fumes
like sour snake venom soup brewed with a pint of rage
microwave gloop, a recluse in a tiger cage
boot from the tidal wave, swarm sc-m pouring in
i’d rather be the claw than the sore thumb snorkeling
forked tongue’s watering, in a padded cave
black and grey barricades hack away
hammer spade, pick shovel, lips scuttle, gashwards
bliss bubbles burst as the limbs scuttle backwards
with tin doors slamming, pitchfork jabbing at a pot of blue solitude
this straw cabin and my copper shoes, what a view, sh-tstorm’s crashing
the result of some p-ss-poor planning
sit chrysa-listening to supreme silence
soon these routines do seem timeless
and while the true gloom suits these spiders
i’mma break loose to the blue scene skywards
[hook] x2
from banana shaped armor plates
half awake, burn in a lava lake
curse of a cast away
break out! (break out) break out! (break out,)
hammer spade, pick shovel, blade, break out
[verse 2]
it’s like, sh-t, there’s a whole world outside
turns out life in this cursed town’s live
from the burnt out rides on forgotten piers rusting
to tin-canned alleycats shotting gear
hunched in the top of weird dustbins
the pick of the litter sits on trap jaws
slack jaws spitting the brittle bricks
and hidden bliss trickles from a slit in the sinner’s wrist
still equipped and bitter but as if i’mma give a sh-t
the visceral vision kit, a summer sun’s message
captured in a caterpillar’s b-tter bug zenith
a tub of dumb relics, lost age of lunacy
the deposits of flambeed immunity
stop! face the mutiny, boarding the king’s dinghy
sh-t’s trippy for thick skins in sim city
sit pretty, snooze with the blue shaman
interview patient zoot for the mutation
new nation, where the stars mark the boundaries
it’s the ride of the half-hearted valkyries
wagwan when half of my spars started doubting me
what? they want to carve half a pound out of me out
start devouring me with see-through cleavers
sweet-toothed geezers that breeze through litres
the streets ooze bleakness, collapse in the thick of it
it’s back to the crhysalis – baxter, in a fit
[hook]
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