Crows 2 Lyrics
| Song | Crows 2 |
| Artist | Aesop Rock |
| Album | Skelethon |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 4 and 21 crows | |
| None go south | |
| For the supper when a punk goes out | |
| Checkerboard of mothballed death-forms | |
| Hauled via vaudeville canes | |
| And encased where the claw marks wane off broadway the god way | |
| Watch, our father | |
| Commuters from the farms with news of el chupacabra | |
| Who transfuse soup out a fresh punk skull | |
| Dumb full blood suckers | |
| Only the chum suffers | |
| Pine box butcher | |
| Encouraging poor lighting | |
| Said “a pall bore not a sure sign ofjarred lightning"Harsh, that's how the yellow spine-diner was bornFeral feeding that strung his organs up like tire swing artChippin' a drippy set of broke bone grindersMore for the hive mindLess for the land mine findersFine, no defacto leaders in the eateryUnless you count the way they led his heart through his tuxedo teeStraight out the front4 and 22Cue the cut throat mouthChew together when a punk goes outEtiquette of tart-tongued ghoulsNever run truck jewelsRun a culinary school for gluttony-drunk wolvesIn guttural gruntsSmothering buttery lung ramenEarly sign of punk showed up on the diagnosticHm, pardon if I seem stand all the see-sawed loss, I can't call itAll petite drawn straws and orange cautionOr outcast creeps re-involved for absolvementIt's gaudy, plus when a hell-bound offspring and yours share an all evolve saltyWatch, if fortune is a bitch with venom and laser titsMaybe sin ‘ll make for sugar-flavored fleshKings taste terrible at best and rest in peace rawThe rest are recipesCaw! |
| 4 and 21 crows | |
| None go south | |
| For the supper when a punk goes out | |
| Checkerboard of mothballed deathforms | |
| Hauled via vaudeville canes | |
| And encased where the claw marks wane off broadway the god way | |
| Watch, our father | |
| Commuters from the farms with news of el chupacabra | |
| Who transfuse soup out a fresh punk skull | |
| Dumb full blood suckers | |
| Only the chum suffers | |
| Pine box butcher | |
| Encouraging poor lighting | |
| Said " a pall bore not a sure sign ofjarred lightning" Harsh, that' s how the yellow spinediner was bornFeral feeding that strung his organs up like tire swing artChippin' a drippy set of broke bone grindersMore for the hive mindLess for the land mine findersFine, no defacto leaders in the eateryUnless you count the way they led his heart through his tuxedo teeStraight out the front4 and 22Cue the cut throat mouthChew together when a punk goes outEtiquette of tarttongued ghoulsNever run truck jewelsRun a culinary school for gluttonydrunk wolvesIn guttural gruntsSmothering buttery lung ramenEarly sign of punk showed up on the diagnosticHm, pardon if I seem stand all the seesawed loss, I can' t call itAll petite drawn straws and orange cautionOr outcast creeps reinvolved for absolvementIt' s gaudy, plus when a hellbound offspring and yours share an all evolve saltyWatch, if fortune is a bitch with venom and laser titsMaybe sin ' ll make for sugarflavored fleshKings taste terrible at best and rest in peace rawThe rest are recipesCaw! |
| 4 and 21 crows | |
| None go south | |
| For the supper when a punk goes out | |
| Checkerboard of mothballed deathforms | |
| Hauled via vaudeville canes | |
| And encased where the claw marks wane off broadway the god way | |
| Watch, our father | |
| Commuters from the farms with news of el chupacabra | |
| Who transfuse soup out a fresh punk skull | |
| Dumb full blood suckers | |
| Only the chum suffers | |
| Pine box butcher | |
| Encouraging poor lighting | |
| Said " a pall bore not a sure sign ofjarred lightning" Harsh, that' s how the yellow spinediner was bornFeral feeding that strung his organs up like tire swing artChippin' a drippy set of broke bone grindersMore for the hive mindLess for the land mine findersFine, no defacto leaders in the eateryUnless you count the way they led his heart through his tuxedo teeStraight out the front4 and 22Cue the cut throat mouthChew together when a punk goes outEtiquette of tarttongued ghoulsNever run truck jewelsRun a culinary school for gluttonydrunk wolvesIn guttural gruntsSmothering buttery lung ramenEarly sign of punk showed up on the diagnosticHm, pardon if I seem stand all the seesawed loss, I can' t call itAll petite drawn straws and orange cautionOr outcast creeps reinvolved for absolvementIt' s gaudy, plus when a hellbound offspring and yours share an all evolve saltyWatch, if fortune is a bitch with venom and laser titsMaybe sin ' ll make for sugarflavored fleshKings taste terrible at best and rest in peace rawThe rest are recipesCaw! |
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