Feek

[Chorus: Jehst]
Too mashed for a Monday
Tryna get high
I just crashed on the runway
This was never gonna be a fun day
Money in the bag
Got 'em gagged

[Verse 1: Jam Baxter]
Adrift on a sea of sweet Irish cream liquor
Box cutter eyes, dagger thumbs
Cut a clean figure (clean)
He was fried (yeah)
Rat meat
A free dinner
In the cold, peeling off his 59p sticker
Damn (damn)
We're a mismatched pair
I just painted your whole face red
I think that's fair
You begin the spiel, I'll just sit back there (right there)
They're like used car salesmen with slick-backed hair
I slashed every tyre as I left
Looking like a pink, newborn
Messiah in a crèche
They say I took to the role
Like fire to the flesh
With a huge, beating ball
Of barbed wire in my chest
He confided in us all
[Like a slip gutted fish
Laid slurring his words
With them thick, sluggish lips?]
This is awkward
They all wanna vent when you're cornered (yeah)
Washed-out
Face freshly laundered (freshly, freshly)
They were all small puppets of themselves
Sat clucking on the shelves
Pecking holes out the floor
Hotbed of sewage
Scroll down for more
Take half of this, child
Hold out your claw

[Chorus: Jam Baxter]
I was attached to the walls with a nail gun
I was a touch too wasted for a Wednesday
I got the whole city stuffed in my suitcase
I got that parboiled brain
Al dente

[Verse 2: Jehst]
Glass jar with the parboiled brain
Got to customs
That was kind of hard to explain
That's why I'm last on the 'plane
Got your picture in a locket
Shaped like a heart on a chain
'Round my neck
Briefcase
Cuffed to my wrist
Full of unmarked
Consecutive bills for the trip
And my drip so Derelicte
Derek Zoolander chic
Magnifique
Little merman
When the Magnum leak
Champagne in the red, plastic cup
With my best white voice
And my head bandaged up
That's why I'm worry-free
They either roll out the red carpet
Or pull the rug out from underneath
Call the thug out
And bust your teeth
Brought a new drug out
People gonna bug out
When it touch the street
A feast for the bloodsucking leech
You're getting waved, OK
Yeah, right
Life's a fucking beach
But who's Hasselhoff?
Your home's getting raffled off
Now you're on the frontline
Holding a Kalashnikov
From the carrycot
To the coffin
That you're carried off in
He's just an evil genius
Another tragic boffin
He got it popping
Rapidly stacking
Since the day he solved the meaning
Of life on the back of a napkin
He should take a rest
He's bored
Sleeves stapled to the desk
Forehead glued to the keyboard

[Chorus: Jehst]
Too mashed for a Monday
Tryna get high
I just crashed on the runway
Was never gonna be a fun day
Money in the bag
Got 'em gagged with the duct tape

Too mashed for a Monday
Tryna get high
I just crashed on the runway
This was never gonna be a fun day
Money in the bag
Got 'em gagged