Dirt Cloud - Dead Players: Şarkı Sözleri, Müzik Videoları ve Konserler

Dirt Cloud

99

Alternative Rap

Dirt Cloud adlı parça albümünün bir parçası olarak High Focus Records tarafından 12 Ağustos 2013 tarihinde yayınlandıDead Players

Şarkı Bilgileri

AlbümDead Players

Çıkış Tarihi12 Ağustos 2013

FirmaHigh Focus Records

Melodiklik

Akustiklik

Valence

Dans Edilebilirlik

Enerji

BPM96

GENEL BAKIŞ

ŞARKI SÖZLERI

Müzik Videosu

Müzik Videosu

Krediler

PERFORMING ARTISTS

Dead Players

Performer

Jam Baxter

Performer

Dabbla

Performer

GhostTown

Performer

COMPOSITION & LYRICS

Frankie Teardrop

Frankie Teardrop

Composer

Andrew Pittas

Songwriter

Jacob Lloyd

Songwriter

PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING

GhostTown

Producer

Şarkı sözleri

Sort it Out

Come on man sort it out!

Fire!

Ha, yeah

Ya see

(Verse 1 – Dabbla & Jam Baxter)

We’ve been running through the same dark corridors

You don’t wanna spar with a style that’ll body yours

What you try’na holla for

We ain't on the same page

Fronting on the main stage, crying that the games changed

This girls like damn he’s got suttin to do with suttin

I guess I better do everything in my power to fuck him

Man if jealously was edible she’d fill a whole carriage

On the next train to no where stacking that baggage

Dealing with all sorts of longingness

Prominence, bopping and moving the futures ominous

Synonymous brainwaves is coming to you live from the bottomless pit

Signed anonymous

Welcome to the Dead Player Members Club

Countless swinging nooses and the bruises and the flesh and guts

Never look, losing life in seconds son and pressure guts

Cerebellum swelling up (What?)

Tell ‘em to remember us!

(Chorus)

I swear down, it’s like every time we turn round

Everything is burnt down, when the dust settle from the dirt cloud

Shut up! Dead Players all up in your pantry

Frankly fuck ‘em, my sentiments exactly

I swear down, it’s like every time we turn round

Everything is burnt down, when the dust settle from the dirt cloud

Shut up! Dead Players all up in your pantry

Frankly fuck ‘em, my sentiments exactly

(Verse 2 – Dabbla & Jam Baxter)

Harpoons to you sardines, leaking to your dark jeans

Me, I’ll be higher than Giraffe lean

Soon to be amazingly explicit, is it

Shits getting stranger by the minute

Just when I thought I sniffed a line in every cubicle in town

I found myself in Hell’s gents ramming bugle in my snout

Super human sputa infusing in the mouth

Grab a soup spill students, glew ‘em to the ground

That’s right, it’s that quick fire get high

Run along a zip wire, hating on because we just a bit fly

Taking any way you wanna send ‘em, end ‘em

DPC initials are the emblem

Yeah, deflect the attention

The cris king corner shon

Pickled in his juice getting loose with a snorkel on

And the list of dizzy heights that I’ve fallen from

Form a long path for the master to walk along

(Chorus)

I swear down, it’s like every time we turn round

Everything is burnt down, when the dust settle from the dirt cloud

Shut up! Dead Players all up in your pantry

Frankly fuck ‘em, my sentiments exactly

I swear down, it’s like every time we turn round

Everything is burnt down, when the dust settle from the dirt cloud

Shut up! Dead Players all up in your pantry

Frankly fuck ‘em, my sentiments exactly

(Verse 3 – Dabbla & Jam Baxter)

Slicker than owl shit, devour shit

Shit that I shouldn’t come out with

Should low it, ain’t a fan that can out spit the outfit

Look at them all getting nostalgic about it

Yeah loud and nostalgia

I bounced out of town and found them all drowning in sauerkraut salsa

Heads buried under ground and hung around their shoulder blades

Thin tin medals from a long lost golden age

Rappers banging on about the mash need to stop it

Thinking like a pimp trying to maximise their profit

Its hard to tell the truth, what you don’t seem to realise is you’re the prostitute

And they’ve got you in the their pocket

As long as I’m equip with a middle finger to hold aloft

A tall glass of everything will surely shake the vultures off

Hold the clock, wait it’s kicking in we’re kicking out

Last seen cramming all my winnings in my grinning mouth

(Chorus)

I swear down, it’s like every time we turn round

Everything is burnt down, when the dust settle from the dirt cloud

Shut up! Dead Players all up in your pantry

Frankly fuck ‘em, my sentiments exactly

I swear down, it’s like every time we turn round

Everything is burnt down, when the dust settle from the dirt cloud

Shut up! Dead Players all up in your pantry

Frankly fuck ‘em, my sentiments exactly

Written by: Andrew Pittas, Frankie Teardrop, Jacob Lloyd

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