Ramallah - The Truth... It's Colder Than A Morgue Slab And Harder Than A Coffin Nail (Gonzo-Core Guerilla-Mix 1 out of Innsmouth) | Текст песни

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• Ramallah
• The Truth... It's Colder Than A Morgue Slab And Harder Than A Coffin Nail (Gonzo-Core Guerilla-Mix 1 out of Innsmouth)

This one goes out to all the Hungry Ghosts I did Time with in Hellworld.
Boogie down with your ol' pal White Trash Rob.
I remember you all...

The truth is colder than a morgue slab and harder than a coffin nail...

I wasted Time now Time hath wasted me...
It's colder than a morgue slab and harder than a coffin nail.
The only reason why I'm here on this mic is because I didn't have the balls to die...
It's colder than a morgue slab and harder than a coffin nail.
This song is all about the bottle, the needle, the damage done,
and the evil of a Hungry Ghost in living Hell.
The truth is colder than a morgue slab.
The truth is harder than a coffin nail.
The truth is uglier than a pus-dripping STD
Or a case of late-stage Hep-C when your liver has failed... HA HA!
Interferon to the rescue baby!
The truth is colder than a morgue slab and harder than a coffin nail...
When you wake up in the morning and don't know if you'll be dead or in jail...
come dusk.
This song is all about the bottle, the needle, the damage done,
and the evil of Hungry Ghost in living Hell...

Too bad they don't have detox for the soul, huh?

Let's break this down:
This song is for the outcast, the victim, the broken and the beat.
This song is for the outlaw, the stepped on, the soul lost on the street.
It's all about the bottle, the needle, the damage done,
and the evil of a Hungry Ghost in living Hell.
The truth is colder than a morgue slab.
The truth is harder than a coffin nail.
The truth is uglier than a pus-dripping STD
or a case of late-stage Hep-C when your liver fails.
It's like a morgue slab... it's like a coffin nail...
it's like a morgueslabcoffinnailthebottlemorgueslabt­heneedlecoffinnailthedamagedonemorguesla­bandtheevilofacoffinnailHungryGhostinHel­l...
Let's break this truth down...

The way I hear it confession is good for the soul.
So why am I back from my long Exile in the Land Of Nod?
Well... I'll tell you.
But first... this is a hot riff right?
Kind of sleazy? Kind of evil?
Like my women and the way I've lived my fucking life.
It's alright. You can admit it. I hear it too...

So back to the burning confession at hand:
why am I still fucking with this \"hardcore\" shit?
I came back just to step on some necks and piss in this pool for everyone else.
Your illusions are my fucking enemy.
The lullabies you sing yourself sicken me.
Your illusions are my ONLY enemy.
The lullabies you sing yourself sicken me.
Now as far as my \"peers\" in this fucked scene go:
far be it from me to wreck your hustle but...
most of you frauds got nothing to say
you let the well run dry and turned it all into a pretty little game.
So sell your T-shirts and plan your undersold tours.
And flee to europe to play \"Oh look... a STAR is born...\".
Fucking cowards.
Yeah, you can posture and drop your fucking names.
I ain't like you.
I'll be down here with the rest of The Lost spitting Truth to the people in pain.
I'm gonna squeeze some more Life and Death out of the moldering corpse of \"hardcore\".
Because the lullabies you sing yourself sicken me
and your illusions are my fucking enemy.

I came back just to step on some necks...
and piss in this pool for the rest of your hacks.
I came back just to step on some fucking necks.
I came back just to step on some necks.
I came back just to step on your fucking neck.
I came back just to step on some necks.
And piss on the illusions of the rest...
of you hacks.

The truth is colder than a morgue slab and harder than a coffin nail.
Do you like apples?
How do like them apples?

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