Slick, but not as sick as a palindrome
The kick is a telephone, i speak to it silently
Stream of conciousness freak, i write on my skin
Thirty thousand fake deep paragraphs, valiantly
I like lyrically complex, eerily depressed
Vividly visual texts that continue killing me quietly
Reading my lyrics is a violation of privacy, some may proclaim
I dont give a f*ck, you can dance in my name
You can dance
Sounds fairly sound
Boy got cheeto dust on his fingers
Like he was just tokin on that fairy loud
Theyre very proud, loudmouth keeps it quiet when hes not allowed
Suppose you could in fact suffocate on fraudulence
You replicating modules wouldnt stand a second, you know? (you know?)
Hold my breath, and wear my tunic
Sonic wavelengths keep me moving
To the tune of their own choosing
Visited munich on google maps
Never saw anything to it
Its on its last legs, my mind did proclaim in reference to you
I knew you
Sullied earth swallowed every little thing for what its worth
Its her, sullen world
Her fault for cursed words he spouts in his work
Observed this encore, unsheathed my sword
White mage in black robes
Finely aged white wine, took him like 4 years to get to this wack trope
Finally back home, type on a cracked phone
Scrolls of a pastor scatterly tacked on
Postmodern predestined
Highly intensive but highly unstable as untested
Interesting, since hes yet to be bested
Though hes standing out there with his open intestines
regular procedure. Video (MV)
Syrup - regular procedure. Lyrics
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
Slick, but not as sick as a palindrome
The kick is a telephone, i speak to it silently
Stream of conciousness freak, i write on my skin
Thirty thousand fake deep paragraphs, valiantly
I like lyrically complex, eerily depressed
Vividly visual texts that continue killing me quietly
Reading my lyrics is a violation of privacy, some may proclaim
I dont give a f*ck, you can dance in my name
You can dance
Sounds fairly sound
Boy got cheeto dust on his fingers
Like he was just tokin on that fairy loud
Theyre very proud, loudmouth keeps it quiet when hes not allowed
Suppose you could in fact suffocate on fraudulence
You replicating modules wouldnt stand a second, you know? (you know?)
Hold my breath, and wear my tunic
Sonic wavelengths keep me moving
To the tune of their own choosing
Visited munich on google maps
Never saw anything to it
Its on its last legs, my mind did proclaim in reference to you
I knew you
Sullied earth swallowed every little thing for what its worth
Its her, sullen world
Her fault for cursed words he spouts in his work
Observed this encore, unsheathed my sword
White mage in black robes
Finely aged white wine, took him like 4 years to get to this wack trope
Finally back home, type on a cracked phone
Scrolls of a pastor scatterly tacked on
Postmodern predestined
Highly intensive but highly unstable as untested
Interesting, since hes yet to be bested
Though hes standing out there with his open intestines
The kick is a telephone, i speak to it silently
Stream of conciousness freak, i write on my skin
Thirty thousand fake deep paragraphs, valiantly
I like lyrically complex, eerily depressed
Vividly visual texts that continue killing me quietly
Reading my lyrics is a violation of privacy, some may proclaim
I dont give a f*ck, you can dance in my name
You can dance
Sounds fairly sound
Boy got cheeto dust on his fingers
Like he was just tokin on that fairy loud
Theyre very proud, loudmouth keeps it quiet when hes not allowed
Suppose you could in fact suffocate on fraudulence
You replicating modules wouldnt stand a second, you know? (you know?)
Hold my breath, and wear my tunic
Sonic wavelengths keep me moving
To the tune of their own choosing
Visited munich on google maps
Never saw anything to it
Its on its last legs, my mind did proclaim in reference to you
I knew you
Sullied earth swallowed every little thing for what its worth
Its her, sullen world
Her fault for cursed words he spouts in his work
Observed this encore, unsheathed my sword
White mage in black robes
Finely aged white wine, took him like 4 years to get to this wack trope
Finally back home, type on a cracked phone
Scrolls of a pastor scatterly tacked on
Postmodern predestined
Highly intensive but highly unstable as untested
Interesting, since hes yet to be bested
Though hes standing out there with his open intestines
Writer: Nethanel Abramovich
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid