Ions - Shredders, Mike Mictlan

Live from environments while iron eagles flyin'

Metal pieces fired

Heaving high into the evening

Come and meet me

Hunting season

Numbered days

I often wonder if that’s even odd

Thesis: reason leaving

Are you breathing?

Right on, my god

Bygones bygones

Ions flaring

Flying from the one that I’m on, sheesh

Beyond neon

I ride on nylon and bearings

Write in krylon, «You're fucking with The Juggernaut»

Why they, why they wanna go to war with them?

Tin clad skin, grin made of porcelain

Orbiting, I can spot 'em from the dorsal fin

Ornament, waiting for the Metamorphosis

Ain’t no Kafka, just some ca-ca from the demagogues

Rocking with the Baphomets inside the Pentagon

One push the button then we bye bye

Bright eyes nigh nigh

You play the sidline

I break the game and make the highlight

Whoa, here we go again

Whoa, it’s always on ten

Whoa, it’s always on ten

Whoa-oh-oh

Whoa-oh-oh

Whoa, here we go again (and again)

Whoa, it’s always on ten

Whoa, it’s always on ten

Whoa-oh-oh

Whoa-oh-oh

Whoa-oh-oh

Whoa-oh-oh

Been a brass-ball

Bearing beast

Ball-sack of gator

Skin off the pavement, preach

Barely great

Crazy 88 Raiders

Beating the fake

Outta you fucks

Bottoms up

Bodies all over the place

Beat the brakes

Beat us and

Beat the face, greasy lean

See the teeth fleeing

To the planet of the blamin' apes

Feeding time

Freedom fights

Feed 'em fire

Free to fry but pay the price

Peter pipes we play through pain

Drapes!

Peace of mind, for piece of yours

I’ll bring the blade

Bring the boys

Out of the yard

I put 'em back in their milkshakes

Cut slash dig

Dumbin' up, domino

Slam Dum dudda

I’m just a city slick

Son of a bitch

Buck bash brick

Do whatcha like

A doo-wop diddy

Don’t letcha britches

Get too fuckin' big

I’ll take the brag outta the docious

Put it back in the bag

Not your bruh, bruh

Buddy, don’t call me guy

You know what it is

Glass on the outside

Blood on the inside

Something ain’t right

Couldn’t think of any other way to hide

Couldn’t be a better way to get away than die

But we some big fans of life, and humbled

And big fans of light, and tunnels

It’s so sick man, got so sick’ning

Quick goddamn man, something better get me

Whoa, here we go again

Whoa, it’s always on ten

Whoa, it’s always on ten

Whoa-oh-oh

Whoa-oh-oh

Whoa, here we go again (and again)

Whoa, it’s always on ten

Whoa, it’s always on ten

Whoa-oh-oh

Whoa-oh-oh

Whoa-oh-oh

Whoa-oh-oh