Death Grips Follow

Inanimate sensation
vantage perspective from objective it came from
inanimate situation
no relation close liaison
no conversation no social contagion
bother me wanna be comrade intrusive
i remain
inanimate aloof skip
counterfeit
like no can do bitch

my vinyl vibrate higher than you bitch
i represent ain't meant to pursue which
one of you oh you all wanna ride well i ain't got room stress
while we continue to make shit tight the loosest

blown out
base

you got a minute
you're in my way
whats wrong
wrong with who
so whats going on
okay
where you at right now
i'm not with you
inanimate persuasion
strictly still life with all of my occasion
inanimate surge of inspiration
glow like thermonuclear invasion
compared to swapping thoughts regurgitation
i revel in lack of slightest acquaintance
no rancid level after taste inanimate negate opinion
as it unravel like enigmatic onion
layers of interdimensional dominion

blown out
base

yeah bitch
my smoke my butane
my boots my headphones my medicated noose
my deadroom my schwartzwald hat my mac
my macaque skull my lysergic stash
empty streets at night my bike
apartment sink filled with dry ice
condemned tenement brandished rail spike
disturb in flat noir and stale white
grey cloud curled around my bearded compound like boa
one of two thunderbolt we ain't broke on tour
concrète antique trapdoor twenty-four
spots to get that get right
when i gotta get right some more
type of get right i can't afford
i covet these things more than any living
i've never been

blown out
base

i'm so northern california i call scratch bammer
pure overhander
live show on a banner
axl rose in a blender
slash on satan's fender
rick james on the cover
running through your lover
like mean mr. mustard
stadium style
for those who came to jock
watch that man salute you
endless nameless lady godivas we snoop to
like eighty-three mermaids in brooklyn zoo
inanimate ghetto box we used to pimp through

blown out
base

inanimate fixation
obsessed with my demo tape collection
inanimate riffs i'm glazin
brag your making music naw you're makin bacon
skinhead skinhead inna dublin
i like my ipod more than fuckin

blown out
base