Ninety-Two

Concave head surmises how and what and why
Concave head surprised to have blunt trauma at his eyes
If these do not swim, they don't sink, they don't heave
With daddy's lungs they still claim "je suis"
All this red herring and varying and still I see

You want to go, boy
Ain't much to fuck with you
A red right hand, son
Let's spit a word or two
Throw down like ninety-two

If suffering at melody don't do us in, then how can these
A pins and needles piety of bowing heads and sweaty teeth
These paint pale a god from the east
These have the 'gram and they question the least
These have the sun and the tragedy is that it seems

You want to go, boy
Ain't much to fuck with you
A red right hand, son
Let's spit a word or two
Throw down like ninety-two

You want to go, boy
Ain't much to fuck with you
A red right hand, son
Let's spit a word or two

You want to go, boy
Ain't much to fuck with you
A red right hand, son
Let's spit a word or two
Throw down like ninety-two



Credits
Writer(s): Themba.
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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