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letra de play at night - madd science

like they want a christ because we smashed the mic. please the night. they won’t act right, because we smash the might play a sad night. they won’t pack right cause we smashed the mic. i sit on a throne of mastodon bones. i hear slade’s mom, trying to master the poem arms fold in the bar codes while programs probe the unknown mold of the old live in the flesh, 15 reps of five sets. give me mellе, mel biceps, i can find aswad test. i twist thе 556 body on the, inside the chests couch, this mousers. hide out from the south. i know the supply routes inside out time out, sign in wile out the connection died out. time to sign out different foods, black boots and ninja suit shoot my shot through into two truths and a lie on the couch, on the roof, pulling the mod suits, count the tube and drop through fit dog. she just from the face to my waist, swole like a log in the leg up. state custom plates, rotate to the ones to stay long. enough to run to the base mask, over the face escape report, to be the pace. the blackhawk 10 minutes late for the birds open sp-ce, pick me up, we celebrate, i read them with a brotherly embrace authenticate, mad science in the place. i’m dead if i played so you never gotta wait. i stand by put eight terracotta soldiers, shape face science from a very bad place clock past the electric gate with duct tape. there’s no time to wait to sign shipshape. earthquake, audio wake how i thought i spit rate, sunny-side-up egg yolk on top plate, mad science six-figure appliance house fires, then it would pliers. tripwires pyrotechnic desires interviews with vampires about spiders affected with the bird virus. my investors seem bias. a half russian submarine, pirate code named ivan with a dive kit regulate pints of spit. i won’t underwater a plasma stay white to the tip. i’m grip gravity with gloves on and to what guns drawn. and, but a dumbo. bone. i’m playing the trombone strings unfolded. drumroll tell you the unofficial story rumsfeld. son stole sat down. he stood up once spoke. he had a rope. tactical sling under this coat. my see, soul is a sp-ce dome, usa-made mole, bring insulated will foam asphalt frequent flyer? ex-navy seal died. while strike a fire and sidewinders drifted through dividers on four tires forced to retire for my rollover priors and snake whisperer the ripper of your visceral tongue twister over with it conforms to the world

- madd science

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