Portal

 Maybe theres a miracle waitin' to happen

in the places and spaces with the mystical patterns

where dark is light and de light is bright

it's a struggle to maintain my appetite

in a time thats filled with gluttonous failure

I'm at pains to express this ya devious behaviour

Spend money, time or a very last dime on de tings you would only ever leave behind

It's a worrying time to lift you head up from the compass,

with no obvious answers to the questions offered

Blinded by the fictions of an audio addiction,

takes the senses to a place of imperceptable conditions

Like who dare ask the sum of their parts?

Who should tell of this becoming hell?

To think is the link between life and death,

enter this body of sound and escape the mesh

As a child i was always happy-go-lucky,

as a man i believe i am just plain lucky

alive inside of this ya dangerous system,

locked in and I'm twisted out of all recognition.

See this is systematic of the tings I have seen

I am lost in Paranoia's most beautiful dream

An escape is made through a thousand doors

with a sub bass emerging through the open floor

In a state of near paralysis restriction forms analysis

guided by subliminals thats from another galaxy

mobilised and lifted by this powers I've been gifted

givin' answers to questions that never existed

Like; who dare ask is the sum their parts?

Who should tell of this becoming hell?

To think is the link between life and death,

and to this body of sound and escape the mesh

(Kode9 & The Spaceape,  Portal / 9 Samurai)

Like a lake in the forest

You're like a lake in the forest
Nothing grows
Like a lake in the forest
On the way
Like a lake

Let’s raise our glasses to our balding brothers
To those who don’t have kids yet, but they seem like dads already
I look at our old photos, and honestly, it makes me want to cry
A Willy Wonka’s golden ticket: locks, curls, strands

Awesome style, but there are so few follicles
No matter how much you try to cover it up, you can’t hide the truth
Keep your head warm, that’s what mom always said
Now you take off your beanie and look like a mess

You’d love to be like Sailor Moon, with bangs in the shape of moons
You’d grab a whole mane with your fist, but now there’s barely anything there
You’re like a lake in the forest now, you’re like a lake in the forest now
And although the style’s still great, the follicles are gone
The follicles are gone!
A bad harvest
It’s like I’m dreaming
The follicles are gone!
(Follicles are gone)

And there’s no doubt that all the cover has melted away like snow
Yes, this is the truth, negative bust down, I know this isn’t swag
Give all the guys a charm, give all the guys a charm
Give it to all those who’ve lost so much: a bit of hair, a bit of hope
A bit of hair
A bit of hope
The follicles are gone
A bit of hair
A bit of hope
The follicles are gone

Let’s raise our glasses to our balding brothers
To those who don’t have kids yet, but they seem like dads already
I look at our old photos, and honestly, it makes me want to cry
A Willy Wonka’s golden ticket: locks, curls, strands

Buzz cut, Canadian, crop
Mullet, Caesar, bowl cut
Undercut, voyage, top knot
None of this is for you, my bro
Curtain, fade, wavy bob
Bob cut, Polish, barcode
None of this is for you, my bro
What’s for you? An open forehead

I root for Real, for real hair transplants
I tried everything, the real hair doesn’t grow back
The cover seems to have melted and only grows in patches
Let Hotabich the thief stop this
I realized this one morning while staring into the mirror
Looks like I’m balding in the shape of the Colosseum
The area’s as big as from the Volga to the Yenisei
But there, nobody plants anything anymore

The follicles are gone!
A bad harvest
It’s like I’m dreaming
The follicles are gone!
The follicles are gone
The follicles are gone!
A bad harvest
It’s like I’m dreaming
The follicles are gone!
The follicles are gone

Чё ты как чмо?

Чё ты как чмо
Чё ты как чёрт
Чё ты не патриот?
Ты чё волчёнок, ты дохуя умный?
Слышишь ты чё нах?
Ты же крещёный?
Ну ты ж не копчёный
Ну вот и всё нах
Хочешь быть порабощённым?
Слышь я тебе повторяю ещё раз

Чё ты как чмо
Чё ты как чёрт
Чё ты не патриот?
Ты чё волчёнок, ты дохуя умный?
Слышишь ты чё нах?
Ты же крещёный?
Ну ты ж не копчёный
Ну вот и всё нах
Хочешь быть порабощённым?
Слышь я тебе повторяю ещё раз

Чё ты как чмо?

russky cockney

 Твой район – это endz или bits,

Слово sket для панельных девиц.

И поверьте мне, food – это не только еда,

Её в Теско и Сейнсбери негде купить, как и lemon & cheese.

Хозяин – landlord, если ты взял апартамент в ренту,

Не верь ему: знай, ты не fam и не mate ему,

Далеко не все mandem – bredren.

Тебя ночью ждут здесь,

Под капюшоном корча screwface, в общем тут есть

Те, кто нахальнее, те, кто на хайпе и в клочья рвут весь London.

Ты, наверное, badman,

Говоря вместо привета Wag1,

Но ты wasteman, косишь под местных,

Сам думая: Мне бы поскорей обратно в Брайтон и Плимут.

Вряд ли Англия примет,

Если не знаешь, что quid это фунт, а косарь это grand,

Ствол это tool, нож это shank, не правда ли, innit?

Off ur face или wasted – синий в говно,

Если tipsy – бухой слегка,

Проездной — это oyster card,

ХЗ почему так повелось, its some next ting.

В кокни к черту падеж, телка у нас – jezzy, bird или gash,

Она может быть buff или butterz: пиздатой, на пафосе, страшной

И всё, что промеж. Oi! Уличный – gully и gutter,

Знай, ты попался, эстет,

Затирая про даб и тустеп,

Но не зная, что панельный блок это council estate —

Nutter! Накосячил? Тебе скажут "fix up!"

Если "nice one", то все заебись.

Так дисс — это par, респект — это big up и safe,

А для zoot'а тут красная rizzlа.

И для каждого дабстеп-туриста:

Ты на острове, cuz, берегись тут.

Пусть у вас ты опасный и гангстер,

У нас тут на Брикстоне с Плаистоу ты хипстер.

And for every dubstep tourist:

You're on an island, cuz, be careful here.

May you be dangerous and a gangster,

Here in Brixton and Plaistow you're a hipster.

Луна

 

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