Pigs Wings - Jam Baxter

Yeah yeah.

here we are again.

Naive on the boards.

etcetera.

Shit, ohh shit.

The rinse out begins, the pig found some wings

In a box of dead gods with tin crowns and rings

So he shot his lead socks, ripped out his limbs

Now he’s swinging in the mists and twigs howling whims

In this mound of skin, a druids at work

Flogging my mind with bottles of wine to ruin my chirps

If a, hog in the sky’s worth two in the dirt

Then the, songs that I write are worth losing a bird for

The beautiful turf war, lashings of blood stew

Ending in an alley with a passionate «fuck you»

Reality floods through, bursting the boiler

The world’s worst surfer immersed in the moisture

The world is my oyster, salty and snot textured

A hot breakfast, poultry in gods dentures

For lost emperors, naw at the gibblets

Ripped from the jaws of the fortunate piglets

It’s like when I think I might spend my life in this place

Feels like the first time I had a knife in my face

Like a thief in the night, try to escape

From the scene of the crime and the cycle of waste

Now when I think of all the swag rhymers that spit

Feels like somebody just light a fire in my ribs

Live from the bits, lighting my spliff

Scatty Jam Baxter, time for the rinse

It’s like six billion individually wrapped idiots

Chilling in big buckets then smothered in some stickiness

If money’s worth anything, they would be worth nothing

If nothing was something it would just look like their gums running

The pricks.

but fuck it its criss

The mother of shimmers above covered in fish

Rubbing her tits, tripping a muggle of troublesome kids

Stuck in the bits, pick it up and unbutton your lips and just…

Scream.

scream to the high heavens

I am, and my life is my weapon

And im’a swing it like a sack of sharp shanks

Moving like a one man avalanche, mass

There’s a rat in our ranks, die hard munters

Drunkards, double glazed eyes dart upwards

As my heart ruptures and time starts crumbling

Stumbling in life’s dark mineshaft mumbling

It’s like when I think I might spend my life in this place

Feels like the first time I had a knife in my face

Like a thief in the night, try to escape

From the scene of the crime and the cycle of waste

Now when I think of all the swag rhymers that spit

Feels like somebody just light a fire in my ribs

Live from the bits, lighting my spliff

Scatty Jam Baxter, time for the rinse

Now I’m all that I was born to be and more

Since I cheifed up the sorcerer that haunted me before

Creeped up the tree trunk, bought a key of draw

Now I’m watching as they wonder what their sores are weeping for

And I can sort of see the shore though these blood fled blinkers

Swimming in the rubble with the undead drifters

Rum swilling, scum spitting, rough neck sickness

Stick it like a smudge to the smut drenched fisters

See I was always that breh, sat there, mashed up

Tranqued dark kids on the rinse till the taps clog

That slug, picking at some mystical hand guts

Turns out they were made of fictional spack dust

Damn, there fat fucks are chilling in my fridge again

Rinsing all my chicken fillets dribbling and spitting phlegm

Until the bitter end im’a slap them about

Dragging them out, cramp some champion fraff in their mouths

It’s like when I think I might spend my life in this place

Feels like the first time I had a knife in my face

Like a thief in the night, try to escape

From the scene of the crime and the cycle of waste

Now when I think of all the swag rhymers that spit

Feels like somebody just light a fire in my ribs

Live from the bits, lighting my spliff

Scatty Jam Baxter, time for the rinse