lirik lagu slaine vs. termanology - the demon's peace
[verse 1: slaine]
yeah, my timing off, hard hearted, my mind is soft
my cold dreaming got no meaning behind it all
wake up in this black hole designed and had to climb the wall
mental case, my faith went the way of the dinosaur
the jungle hungry, blood is dripping from the lions paw
get a taste of murder more, every day that i mature
the sickness in my veins, i don’t need to find a cure
freddy stashed the burner by the bfi [?] behind the store
the violent law outside my culture waits a savage beast
the gluttony is stuck on me, the demon needs to have his peace/piece
sly thief, high priest of the lavish feast
with five freaks they filleted me ‘til i splattered cheeks [?]
my vice is nice, gamble for the price of ice
with the dice in hand, watch him scramble for a nicer life
pretty women in their linens by the sofa sing
full of malice, [?] into the chalice as they toast again
[hook: slaine & termanology] (x2)
caught up in the vice grip, fire in ya iris
(yayo from the puerto rocks) whiskey of the irish
swimming in ya blood stream, spreading like a virus
(ya hear the angels sing) with the song of king cyrus
[verse 2: termanology]
yo, i’m never faking the funk
my ex-b-tch is a c-nt, the other one’s even worse
i bought her a gucci purse, she still complain
even though she’s ill with the brain, she’s wild dumb
let me f-ck raw ‘til i c-m, then i hit the tour
f-ck six fans in six vans, then the drugs kicked in
think hard as a kickstand
got me running around the telly [?] buck naked with a asian
told me she worship satan, her boyfriend was amazing
the last one was an agent, working for the feds
then i kicked her, then i kicked her, then i kicked her out my pad
[?] led paint, in 1988 i sat in the project while my moms went on dates
falling asleep hungry, flicking roaches off my face
got a open case, lucky i ain’t hooked on base
i got second hand crack smoke still in my lungs
did a hundred shows last year, i’m still on the run
[hook: slaine & termanology] (x2)
caught up in the vice grip, fire in ya iris
(yayo from the puerto rocks) whiskey of the irish
swimming in ya blood stream, spreading like a virus
(ya hear the angels sing) with the song of king cyrus
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