Inanimate Sensation - Death Grips

Inanimate sensation

Vantage perspective from objective it came from

Inanimate situation

No relation, close liaison

No conversation, no social contagion

Bother me, wanna be comrade intrusive

I remain

Inanimate aloof skip

Counterfeit

Like no can do, bitch

My vinyl vibrate higher than you, bitch

I represent, ain’t meant to pursue which

One of you, oh you all wanna ride, well, I ain’t got room stress

While we continue to make shit tight the loosest

Aaaah

Blown out

Base

You got a minute

You’re in my way

What’s wrong

Wrong with who

So what’s going on?

Okay

Where you at right now?

I’m not with you

Inanimate persuasion

Strictly still life with all of my occasion

Inanimate surge of inspiration

Glow like thermonuclear invasion

Compared to swapping thoughts;

regurgitation

I revel in lack of slightest acquaintance

No rancid level after taste inanimate negate opinion

As it unravel like enigmatic onion

Layers of interdimensional dominion

Blown out

Base

Yeah, bitch

Bitch, bitch

My smoke, my butane

My boots, my headphones, my medicated noose

My deadroom, my schwartzwald hat, my Mac

My macaque skull, my lysergic stash

Empty streets at night, my bike

Apartment sink filled with dry ice

Condemned tenement, brandished rail spike

Disturb in flat noir and stale white

Grey cloud curled around my bearded compound like boa

One of two thunderbolt we ain’t broke on tour

Concrète antique trapdoor twenty-four

Spots to get that get right

When I gotta get right some more

Type of get right I can’t afford

I covet these things more than any living thing

I’ve never been

Blown out

Base

I’m so Northern California, I call scratch «bammer»

Pure overhander

Live show on a banner

Axl Rose in a blender

Slash on Satan’s fender

Rick James on the cover

Running through your lover

Like mean Mr. Mustard

Stadium style

For those who came to jock

Watch that man salute you

Endless nameless Lady Godivas we snoop to

Like eighty-three mermaids in Brooklyn Zoo

Inanimate ghetto box we used to pimp through

Blown out

Base

Inanimate fixation

Obsessed with my demo tape collection

Inanimate riffs I’m glazin'

Brag you’re making music, naw, you’re makin' bacon

Skinhead, skinhead inna dublin

I like my iPod more than fuckin'

Blown out

Base