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letra de gone with the wind - new mayhem

[chorus:]
never was a skimming of schematics
never were they aiming at the attic (give em two thumbs up!)
they were never flexing out the fabric
there was never money-bagging magic (get em tight handcuffs!)
but they were steady limping on the crutches
they were barely crawling thru the motions
here are the bars:
human anatomy, humongous salary, powder and collard greens
floss, floss!
x2

[verse 1:]
16 bars a little much for the greenh-rn
muddle out a hook, and you’re d1
riding on that bull for a year, till the sheep sh-rn
bars like danny, gone phantom, a-1
a four outta four on the billboard? hard sell
psyche, give him 8 if he snitch from a jail cell
tight, give him life, yeah the price isn’t high
if it were then the t-rds might not stack to the sky
i don’t got a set, but gang gang goo
i don’t even carry, but my beats do
i don’t get em wet, but i’m shamu
i don’t like to flex, but yeah i do
all bark no bite, what’s a pit to a poodle
you’re dog chow mane, like kitten caboodle
you’re limp and you’re soggy, sauce on your noodle
out of the club, get em snubbed like pluto
[chorus:]
never was a skimming of schematics
never were they aiming at the attic (give em two thumbs up!)
they were never flexing out the fabric
there was never money-bagging magic (get em tight handcuffs!)
but they were steady limping on the crutches
they were barely crawling thru the motions
here are the bars:
human anatomy, humongous salary, powder and collard greens
floss, floss!
x2

[verse 2:]
skin a cat ten thousand times, still kitty kick a bucket
ruckus equal buckets, even if the mucus (muh-kus) nothing
for real, issa vibe, issa wave, issa mood
it’s fort-five minutes on a track, then snooze
it’s rarely any heart, and barely any groove
there nary is a passion, burning in the wood
punch in, punch out, fill the bars for the clout
get the check, hit the bank, if it works, never change
but here is the kicker, the irony is
that even this message is well over-did
it’s trite and it’s tripe and it’s tried and it’s tired
yet we whine and we cry and we preach what’s expired
“oh my gosh, all this trap, yeah it’s cr-p and it’s trash
but when i write triple time, it is tongues, it’s divine”
from the pulpit you spit and you grit and you seethe
but the pews start to empty, your fans leaving seats
and still you be claiming “goat, i am god
you are gone with the wind, i am gog the magog”
and you foam on the floor, as you twitch and you tick
‘til discography’s left without mirth, myth, or wit
and the guys who were worse take a trip to the bank
cause despite all your effort to tell them they stank
yeah believe it or not, all their bangers went bang
while your swansong was sang, and your name fades away
[outro:]
human anatomy, humongous salary, powder and collard greens
gone with the wind
x4

- new mayhem

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