Bones

Oh I feel my bones I'm on that rock salt roll
And it's comin' up slow man it's comin' up slow
And I'm feelin' used up as some old patron
And if Heaven unfolds man if Heaven unfolds

I hope it's cold Oh colder than the roof of my skin
And I hope there's holes
Yeah, holes that I should never fill in
With concrete and gin

Oh it's out of control man it's out of control
Satan's out of control man he's out of control
And he on that new shit now he on that solo dough
And I hear there's more than eight ways, more than what I've been told

It follows codes
Yeah, rules that I've forgotten I know
And borrowed loans
From families and friends I provoke
With stolen gold
And remnants of what I should owe them
To feast all alone



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

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