Jam Baxter - Feek lyrics
{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} I drift 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) What a mismatched pair I just painted your whole face red I think that's fair You begin your spiel, I 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, beaten 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 {copies?} of themselves Sat clucking on the shelves Pecking holes out the floor Hotbed of sewage Stroll 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 {?} voice And my head bandaged up That's why I'm worry-free They either roll up 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 bloodsu*king leech You're getting waved, OK Yeah, right Life's a fu*king beach But who's Hasselhoff? Your home's getting raffled off Now you're on a frontline Holding a Kalashnikov From the Carrycot To the coffin You're carried off in You're just an evil genius Another tragic boffin He got it popping Rapidly stacking Since the {day's so demeaning?} A 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