album cover
artist
Ed Scissor
Max
1,431
Hip-Hop/Rap
Maxは、アルバム『{albumName}』の一部として2012年11月26日にHigh Focus RecordsによりリリースされましたBetter.Luck.Next.Life
album cover
アルバムBetter.Luck.Next.Life
リリース日2012年11月26日
レーベルHigh Focus Records
言語English
メロディック度
アコースティック度
ヴァランス
ダンサビリティ
エネルギー
BPM80

概要

歌詞

クレジット

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Ed Scissor
Ed Scissor
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
R Legge
R Legge
Composer
Thomas Hawkins
Thomas Hawkins
Songwriter

歌詞

It was 1999, bonfire night
When the red mist first enveloped his character traits
He found himself with no control over his fists
Wailing on some dickhead's face from his council estate
See, many moons have passed since the
Hope of a 2.4 landlubber lifestyle
Were being smashed into smithereens
It was a year ago this very day
That the intravenous sludge pumping had taken off at a wild speed
He found himself a regular at the phone boxes
Cherry Lambrini buy a carb from the corner shop
Back to the mould-covered wormhole mattress stain
Practiced baccy packs full of flints and butts stinking
Nuff guzzling drugs, vein deposit lumps clogging his mud
Stuck in the mud, the AM doth greet him
Spastic Max sat in a deluge of acid tabs
Flame retardant trackie pants and garage rap sketching
Seldom seen was he between A to B
Missions to spaghetti junctions, paints on the underpass
Hanging off the highest bridge, rang goose quack-a-thon
Throwing breeze blocks through speeding windscreens passing
He would climb electricity mains
And cut the power from his hometown
And ruin the streets reeling in a panic
And cotching cold the sack hedgerows
Watching single mothers sparking matches
In the darkness of their living rooms
His grief flourished like anthill communities
Couplets from an undercurrent colour source beneath the green
Concrete corridors and monoliths
In and around the pissy stairwells and
Pissy lifts in which he found his peace
Beneath the breadline, bread knife sliced at the smart price
Car crimes, carnages, hair greyed
Cracked enamel pegs inside a garbage pail
Kid cabbage patch tapping veins until the sun decayed
He moved inland for better dope
Castaway bastard face forgot the names of his schoolmates
He moved inland like seagulls sacking off
Trawler ship cast-offs for landfill luncheon
The coastline haunted his thoughts
So he thought ever more about taking a saw to his neck side
He had visions of blood dripping over the floor
Of his four by four foot box bedroom next life
He'd open paperbacks but only paint the pages black
And use a magnifying glass to spark a map of memories
Words would get deleted quicker than a hundred metre dash
Another night laden with some fear and loading imagery
You might have known him, the man behind those ram raids
The man behind the letter bomb sent out to several primary schools
You might have known him as the dude who
Scampered down the side of your house
And made off with your penny farthing bicycle
He used to watch the freight trains
He used to fish for carp and beat his catches
To a rancid mush with heavy-ended claw hammers
He used to sneak into the cinema and sit in front rows
And laugh his head off to the Hammer horror matinees
He used to talk to people and people used to talk him too
That was way before the crack, the
Whores, the drugs, the sniffing glue
That was way before the days of simply nicking pissy booze
And jumping queues of peeps shopping for shitty supermarket food
See life wasn't ship shape, life was shit mate
Life was hookers tied to his bed frame with griptape
Blindfolded piss games, neck curtain shit stain
Fist gape, listening to Rick James mixtapes
He was his mother's only baby pains
His mother's only Labour Day, his mother's one and only angel saint
His mother never thought she'd see a grave before the day
That Max was raking cash and chasing pavements to the stock exchange
His mind felt heavy, cracked skull matter case
Fragile flesh with lead bricks sat inside throbbing
He felt his face change shape and time ebbing away
The vital signs of life ankle deep inside a teak coffin
Sitting in the fourth dimension he felt the raw depression
Of forty horsemen stretching his organs' awful essence
He was ever omnipresent as a portal peasant
Looking in the mirror clock a devil dressed in his reflection
During thunderstorms he found peace with life
He saw the rainers writing letters with Jesus Christ
And with his fingers he'd scribe letters across the sky
In the hope the constellations would free his mind
But deep inside his rancid flat, light flicker movements mapped
White face, wrinkled grimace, lager cans and baccy ash
Lost in the soil for the spastic Max
Six foot two, six foot box, six feet deep in the cancer tank
Written by: R Legge, Thomas Hawkins

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