letra de the noise - payday monsanto
“oh, the noise”
“oh, oh the noise”
“noise!”
“noise!”
“noise!”
“that’s one thing he hated!”
“that’s one thing he hated!”
“the noise!”
i got styles that make you wanna go & call the cops, i don’t care about the cl!cks, or the pops, i make you scared of d-cks, more than glocks. you get trauma-based psy-op mind-control, spray your third-eye with black paint, blind your soul, throw devils in ditches, leave ’em confined to holes. i don’t like to say things, but i will harvest your organs to butchers in beijing, aristocrats confuse the masses, and pay kings, my name’s among the bells that they ring. ding-dong, ding-dong, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. that’s what they say when it’s time to pay, bank-runs & market-calls make their hair turn grey, early. then they try to play it off like mr. furley. gamblin’ on ass, whistlin’ past the graveyard, it’s hard to come to grips with the fact you a slave, god. when you made such an emotional investment, and played hard. well, guess what? i’m not like them, i’ve obtained a gem, and i’m tryin’ to keep it. every jewel they get, they squander, then they wonder, while they wander, around back ’yonder. you can see me, when you shoot your tv, with a blue desert e., let the truth set you free, 92, 23, it don’t matter to me, if you seen what i see, then you’d have to agree…
“noise!”
“that’s a beautiful song”
“noise!”
“that’s a beautiful song”
“noise!”
don’t it feel nice to have a brand-new jaguar, and drive around town like the consummate f-g-star, with the feminine hair-do’s, and lemon & pear shoes? me, and simon & schuster, match like punky brewster. this the world you born in? this the world you used to? simple, funky, shoot ‘ya, take away your future? children born today, are well on they way of beggin’ their parents, for the latest brain-chip, they can call it a name, but it’s all the same sh-t, ain’t nothin’ virtual, you leave this earth with what you came with…(came with)
“that’s a beautiful song, please sing it again”
i got styles that make you wanna go & call the cops, i don’t care about the cl!cks, or the pops, i make you scared of d-cks, more than glocks. you get trauma-based psy-op mind-control, spray your third-eye with black paint, blind your soul, throw devils in ditches, leave ’em confined to holes. i don’t like to say things, but i will harvest your organs to butchers in beijing, aristocrats confuse the masses, and pay kings, my name’s among the bells that they ring. ding-dong, ding-dong, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. that’s what they say when it’s time to pay, bank-runs & market-calls make their hair turn grey, early. then they try to play it off like mr. furley. gamblin’ on ass, whistlin’ past the graveyard, it’s hard to come to grips with the fact you a slave, god. when you made such an emotional investment, and played hard. well, guess what? i’m not like them, i’ve obtained a gem, and i’m tryin’ to keep it. every jewel they get, they squander, then they wonder, while they wander, around back ‘yonder. you can see me, when you shoot your tv, with a blue desert e., let the truth set you free, 92, 23, it don’t matter to me, if you seen what i see, then you’d have to agree…
“all the who-girls & boys, would wake up bright and early, they’d rush for their toys, and then…oh, the noise…oh, the noise…noise…noise!”
“that’s one thing he hated, the noise!”
“noise!”
“ahhhhh!”
“noise!”
“noise!”
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