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letra de grave city - depressive tongue posse

we goin’ back to grave city…

[sharxxx]

packin’ up the station wagon, not vacation
grabbin’ the suitcases, we left up in a haste, cuz the gas cloud’s ragin’
lookin’ up at red skies, try to race the time bomb
goin’ on a death race with the engine light on
we never belonged to the earth because our life gone
we were just visiting a minute so we could write songs
but the mission’s done, so it’s time to run
posse dismantle and head home to the lifeless ones
we got a whole f-ckin’ city made of bone
red rivers running quick over rat-infested stone
all you rappers testing patience with yer wack and stolen flows
you give back yer gold and clothes, or you suffer all the blows
the end approaches when the prof lights the last spliff
the smoke is chokin’ as the froot gives yer -ss a whip
and i’m sharxxx with the gas and the matches
hate noise sets the blaze, and it’s tragic
do you believe in magic? do you believe in extraterrestrials?
do ya got a death wish? i bet that we could help wit’ yall
the only thing this planet had to offer was a crate of arnold palmer and a pound of marijuana
so we stocked up, then we set the timer on the rocket
soon as this ep drops, yall gonna be the target
so if you’s a rapper on the market to start sh-t
i suggest you buckle up when the f-ckin’ shark hit

grave city, ain’t pretty
dead bodies in the water
television always fl!ckering
power to the dealers of the legal and the il-
if you comin’ through these gates, yo, i hope you ready to k!ll

[boy froot]

synthesizer, equalizer, boy froot is the evil riser
makin’ b-tches dead then i raise em out the dirt
make em spread they legs then they p-ssy gon hurt
blunts in rotation, water hydration
boy froot the scholar, better check the automation
windows 95 got the disk for installation
the external drive can’t forget the operation
flash drive broken, all my files open
drag em to the trash, bill gates, you must be jokin’
strap on my skates just because my bike was stolen
figure out the case right after i’m done smokin’
back to grave city where my dead b-tches chillin’
they stay pretty even tho they organs spillin’

[h e x x x o f f n d r]

mushroom cloud hittin’, no one had the time to call out
built a mansion out of bones, glowin’ from the fall out
breathin’ through a gas mask, aired with dope and opium
staring at the carnage that’s so beautifully dystopian
purple smoke and green glow and liquids cover everything
dark magic power, zombie cultists bring us offerings
eating psilocybin, on the astral plane i’m glidin’
bidin’ time until it’s time to slide through the horizon
vision’s getting glitched out, ripping holes in time and sp-ce
drippin’ slime, shoot electric tendrils out my f-ckin’ face
earth is now obsidian, a cold, avoided, lifeless place
etch its surface with a message, rip the human race
now it’s time for me to chill, because there’s no one left to k!ll
there’s still another million planets full of blood to spill
depressive tongues lay silent, rest in power to the ill
so just smoke another blunt and do what the f-ck thou wilt

- depressive tongue posse

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