Ghost Town - Pipe Smoke lyrics

[Jam Baxter] Come on man Yeah Come on. Shhhh [Verse 1] Trials of a burnt tongue dragged through a slalom of fresh chilli Skull-f**ing the scale model of a dead city He gets busy in a big bag of rabbits feet Lucky f**'s skating through his life on a satin sheet Acid freak sapping skies dry with his jagged teeth Bite down on your Marx prize for the fattest leech Pick a winner, pig's stomach splattered on a ragged street And f** it, look, I figure If I sick of these gold nugget hugging worm waddling Can snatch the future out of the mouth of a serf grovelling And I'm allowed to bounce to his house in a hearse vomiting And reward him his masters in sparkling, and in turd polishing It's basic, presenting a new face of snake venom Pre-stripped the skin and rolled neatly through his strange heaven The grave beckons, man this sh**'s nasty All I see is sobbing sock-puppets at a kid's party Sit calmly, the air's sweating danger Welcome to pick your own parachute failure Free fall face up, see you in the crater I guess I'll check the playback later Ready with the boiling oil buckets for the genius that builds stilts To wade through the ill-timed tears and the spilt milk "k**, k**, k**, k**." Yeah that's what they all say Especially the stubborn apparitions in my doorway No warm taste of my world, never gets old Like the kid flinging heat rocks can never get cold So I tell 'em "Lets's roll." Holes in my torn attire Sat head-bu*ting a sand sculpture of a wall of fire Walk the wire, blindfold. Shouldering a screaming pig That never stops bleeding in the freezer mist (What) I wonder why their manor looking so proud When this town's becoming like a...ghost town Walk out the yard, string and tired to the moon See me swing through the city, through the spiralling fumes Past high minds binding, designing their tombs As they're pulling out a tag on their wires from the wombs [Edward Scissortongue:] Scissor Yeah, Yeah, oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo Scissortongue, my blade runner, half me and halve you Phantasmagorical dark tunes to pa** through. Pa** the start that part sees and part stews Brains tapped in more ways than Roy Castle's dance shoes Part two, the doppelgänger, grammar sicker than a back-alley then it's smashing out your teeth with a rusty hammer Smash. Smash Mind trapped in this time-capsule time-lapse, side-tracked by the wide cracks in my synapse Life's an uphill struggle in my shoe size. An eerie Indiana type of tussle when I chew mics Two sides to everything, one for the pacifist, two for the mentalist Two's right I see Sheets of rain on these streets of rage and take lethal strains just to ease their pain It's like leave this place or for mental there's some pubs injust things away. (?) Count down to Demon Days These are fandangoed flashbacks, lost in this Mad Max rangoose that we made Stone after stone in this bleak place, build from the Burroughs into deep space And we'll keep on going 'til the beef steaks faker than cyphers Sitting on a neat place, certain they'll find us Make for the skirting and the pianist; eight types of vermin. Which one is evilest? Grape vines are lurking, ears in the walls and the ceiling's are talking to all that's appalling Now we can't figure it out. Scribble words 'til the brain waves flicker and drown, 'til they're no longer shining Though must layers on your rye eyelids are writhing. Night falls greater than the giant; Goliath One slim shot in a million. Direct hit now we're k**ing 'em All work and no play makes is a border, the copious bullsh** that cradles my thoughts. And the same deep visions that I cradled before get replaced by the K as they change and contort