Angular Lyrics
| Song | Angular |
| Artist | Antipop Consortium |
| Album | Shopping Carts Crashing |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Austin, Blaize, Greene ... | |
| unto itself it's incomplete | |
| but made complete by my connection | |
| the effervescent vestige of decimation | |
| the decimal point seven thousandth of a percent | |
| possession with the intent to make bent | |
| I break bread with tack heads | |
| in flight unflawed, with sight unseen | |
| strangely configured with fire inside of a womb the size of an entire planet | |
| born of fire | |
| [Beans] | |
| I'm so fly | |
| you had no choice | |
| love my torture | |
| tailor denture fender | |
| mauled by fur coats | |
| unraveled like fabric | |
| celebrate your failure | |
| when the records spins your chance of wins is thin as threads | |
| in the grip of a cripple | |
| not identified in a line up, no similarity or purpose | |
| so save breath for retreat, shriek like a grieving widow | |
| cause life hates you, just like I do | |
| you boot licking maggot | |
| sound like a frog with emphysema | |
| [Priest] | |
| I say this with emphasis | |
| somebody play this, repeat this | |
| somebody said I was a phony | |
| the first stunt from a one trick pony | |
| a pretender to the throne, seat at the feet of the one before me | |
| I changed the story | |
| obscured the space in which you occupy | |
| I rock with my nuts exposed for you to swing on | |
| klingons kling on | |
| bring on a cape and a scepter | |
| connect the cathodes | |
| my pathos goes back to crayons | |
| on the track I extol | |
| expose political figures with pictures and garters | |
| and rock harder than your hardest track spitter | |
| [Beans] | |
| I love winter for all of the women I've kept warm | |
| script gigolo systemic cataclysm | |
| applies pressure at disposal | |
| I picture dimension dismantle, if you try you will fail | |
| none to shackle my anger | |
| on the way up you on the way out, residence in text intense interpretation | |
| revert like an echo | |
| the merit of your opinions must taken with a total grain of nothing | |
| [M. Sayyid] | |
| hey yo my first step started with a sprint | |
| then grew to a man spitting on tracks with a bottle and a limp | |
| a wrinkled map | |
| a screaming throttle and two cent to dent amps and | |
| fuck you cats up like a nymph | |
| no sentiment is eminent my embitterment and | |
| the many metaphors I cash in | |
| collapse mc's to the blacktop in the backspins with no shirt while I am maxing | |
| slapping asses in aspen | |
| in a bubble bath laughing | |
| your style: no dough like no ID at check cashing | |
| leaving it alone | |
| leave it to the man who's more bones | |
| and walk the street with no chrome | |
| long distance like a phone out of zones before the stones | |
| and the bodies that got blown for loans and shown with a poem | |
| and if you're quiet, in the wind you can hear the moans | |
| if you're quiet, in the wind you can hear the moans... |
| zuo ci : Austin, Blaize, Greene ... | |
| unto itself it' s incomplete | |
| but made complete by my connection | |
| the effervescent vestige of decimation | |
| the decimal point seven thousandth of a percent | |
| possession with the intent to make bent | |
| I break bread with tack heads | |
| in flight unflawed, with sight unseen | |
| strangely configured with fire inside of a womb the size of an entire planet | |
| born of fire | |
| Beans | |
| I' m so fly | |
| you had no choice | |
| love my torture | |
| tailor denture fender | |
| mauled by fur coats | |
| unraveled like fabric | |
| celebrate your failure | |
| when the records spins your chance of wins is thin as threads | |
| in the grip of a cripple | |
| not identified in a line up, no similarity or purpose | |
| so save breath for retreat, shriek like a grieving widow | |
| cause life hates you, just like I do | |
| you boot licking maggot | |
| sound like a frog with emphysema | |
| Priest | |
| I say this with emphasis | |
| somebody play this, repeat this | |
| somebody said I was a phony | |
| the first stunt from a one trick pony | |
| a pretender to the throne, seat at the feet of the one before me | |
| I changed the story | |
| obscured the space in which you occupy | |
| I rock with my nuts exposed for you to swing on | |
| klingons kling on | |
| bring on a cape and a scepter | |
| connect the cathodes | |
| my pathos goes back to crayons | |
| on the track I extol | |
| expose political figures with pictures and garters | |
| and rock harder than your hardest track spitter | |
| Beans | |
| I love winter for all of the women I' ve kept warm | |
| script gigolo systemic cataclysm | |
| applies pressure at disposal | |
| I picture dimension dismantle, if you try you will fail | |
| none to shackle my anger | |
| on the way up you on the way out, residence in text intense interpretation | |
| revert like an echo | |
| the merit of your opinions must taken with a total grain of nothing | |
| M. Sayyid | |
| hey yo my first step started with a sprint | |
| then grew to a man spitting on tracks with a bottle and a limp | |
| a wrinkled map | |
| a screaming throttle and two cent to dent amps and | |
| fuck you cats up like a nymph | |
| no sentiment is eminent my embitterment and | |
| the many metaphors I cash in | |
| collapse mc' s to the blacktop in the backspins with no shirt while I am maxing | |
| slapping asses in aspen | |
| in a bubble bath laughing | |
| your style: no dough like no ID at check cashing | |
| leaving it alone | |
| leave it to the man who' s more bones | |
| and walk the street with no chrome | |
| long distance like a phone out of zones before the stones | |
| and the bodies that got blown for loans and shown with a poem | |
| and if you' re quiet, in the wind you can hear the moans | |
| if you' re quiet, in the wind you can hear the moans... |
| zuò cí : Austin, Blaize, Greene ... | |
| unto itself it' s incomplete | |
| but made complete by my connection | |
| the effervescent vestige of decimation | |
| the decimal point seven thousandth of a percent | |
| possession with the intent to make bent | |
| I break bread with tack heads | |
| in flight unflawed, with sight unseen | |
| strangely configured with fire inside of a womb the size of an entire planet | |
| born of fire | |
| Beans | |
| I' m so fly | |
| you had no choice | |
| love my torture | |
| tailor denture fender | |
| mauled by fur coats | |
| unraveled like fabric | |
| celebrate your failure | |
| when the records spins your chance of wins is thin as threads | |
| in the grip of a cripple | |
| not identified in a line up, no similarity or purpose | |
| so save breath for retreat, shriek like a grieving widow | |
| cause life hates you, just like I do | |
| you boot licking maggot | |
| sound like a frog with emphysema | |
| Priest | |
| I say this with emphasis | |
| somebody play this, repeat this | |
| somebody said I was a phony | |
| the first stunt from a one trick pony | |
| a pretender to the throne, seat at the feet of the one before me | |
| I changed the story | |
| obscured the space in which you occupy | |
| I rock with my nuts exposed for you to swing on | |
| klingons kling on | |
| bring on a cape and a scepter | |
| connect the cathodes | |
| my pathos goes back to crayons | |
| on the track I extol | |
| expose political figures with pictures and garters | |
| and rock harder than your hardest track spitter | |
| Beans | |
| I love winter for all of the women I' ve kept warm | |
| script gigolo systemic cataclysm | |
| applies pressure at disposal | |
| I picture dimension dismantle, if you try you will fail | |
| none to shackle my anger | |
| on the way up you on the way out, residence in text intense interpretation | |
| revert like an echo | |
| the merit of your opinions must taken with a total grain of nothing | |
| M. Sayyid | |
| hey yo my first step started with a sprint | |
| then grew to a man spitting on tracks with a bottle and a limp | |
| a wrinkled map | |
| a screaming throttle and two cent to dent amps and | |
| fuck you cats up like a nymph | |
| no sentiment is eminent my embitterment and | |
| the many metaphors I cash in | |
| collapse mc' s to the blacktop in the backspins with no shirt while I am maxing | |
| slapping asses in aspen | |
| in a bubble bath laughing | |
| your style: no dough like no ID at check cashing | |
| leaving it alone | |
| leave it to the man who' s more bones | |
| and walk the street with no chrome | |
| long distance like a phone out of zones before the stones | |
| and the bodies that got blown for loans and shown with a poem | |
| and if you' re quiet, in the wind you can hear the moans | |
| if you' re quiet, in the wind you can hear the moans... |
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