touch ac - ridin' on the skirt (feat. dr. dundiff) | Текст песни

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• ridin' on the skirt (feat. dr. dundiff)

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Fresh as fuckin’ sushi, hoppin out the mouth of Krishna while crestfallen Angels stumble drunken through the Mishna. Fixna do battle with the dull gods of drudgery then eat the skull of Justice, full savage (fuck the cutlery!). Desert Father types used to call me “Touch Supplicant.” Surf board soul in case the vibe is too undulant. Diet’s pure shit but my reading provides the supplement I need to take the torch that lit the sun and start to run with it. Now my mentors wonder, “How’d he get so nice?” Man I’ve been swimming through the icy veins of the TechnoChrist. It’s like ALL THE SAME SHIT BROTHER, WHAT’S A DUDE TO DO?!” The black waves of Acheron fade in to a Xanadu. Ridin’ constellations til my luck slows, snatch an arrow out Orion’s bow and holler “Fuck no!” My mantra is, transform the sound-proof to sonorous. Ego death eponymous, anonymous, honor this. Sittin’ on the road in a way broke van while DMT elves holler, “Stay woke Fam!” I never knew myself ‘til I was ridin’ on the skirty, now I die a thousand deaths a day before 12:30.

Stoned from day one like Medusa used a cloudy crystal ball to view and skew my future. Still, I do this truly to prove a fact that when your fuel is lookin’ truthless you can pull it back. Back from the dead, hands red, caught me rollin’ somethin’. Cold as fuck, Odinson holdin, thunderboltin’ somethin’. Better duck down! All around cameras catchin’ ya. Kings’ blood. Check Mate, checkin ya. Wreckin’ ya. Shut the fuck up! I done told y’all once that if you notice the shoulder with coldness it’s cause I rode the road with the bumps. And I’ve been ridin on the skirt like Han Solo on the outer rim. Truth in the presence of the counterfeit. Winners take all like Winters take all shitty share-croppers lackin that foresight in the Fall. Patient pawns movin’ Mothers, Crones, and Maidens but I mostly murk beats if Mr. Highmoon made ‘em. Identify Raiden but I’m more so Goro. Pendragon grabbin’ at the Stone like “Where’d the Sword go?!” I’m told Death strolls a horse so khloros. I’m trying to clutch my 40 through the chorus with the door closed. Ridin.

FRAME HOUSE!

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