Tasmanian Pain Coaster 歌词
| 歌曲 | Tasmanian Pain Coaster |
| 歌手 | El-P |
| 专辑 | I'll Sleep When You're Dead |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : El P | |
| (Intro: From the 1992 film "Fire Walk With Me") | |
| Do you think that if you were falling in space | |
| That you would slow down after a while, or go faster and faster? | |
| Faster and faster... | |
| For a long time you wouldn't feel anything... | |
| Then you would burst into into fire, for ever | |
| And the angel's won't help you, 'cause they've all gone away... | |
| (Un, dos, un, dos, tres, quatro) | |
| I saw this kid walking down the street | |
| I was like "wait" (echoes) | |
| (El-P) | |
| Bumped into this kid I knew, he often would walk strange | |
| So I ignored the blood on his laces so this cat could save face | |
| The dunks and the gaze stayed in an off grey haze | |
| And the lump in his pocket talked to the ox that he clutched safe | |
| So I saluted him there, waiting for the A | |
| Trapped on the empty platform without the option to escape | |
| Gave him the standard: "Yo, what up man, how you landin'?" | |
| And the hypnotized response was no surprise: "I maintain" | |
| "Yeah we all do, that's the standardized refrain | |
| But on some really real man, good to see you, really, what the dealy deal?" | |
| Oops, ****, screwed the pooch, asked too much, knew the truth | |
| On the train now, a caboose | |
| In his brain now, no recluse | |
| 80 Blocks to uptown spot, destination vocal booth | |
| Metro-card like: "you get what you pay for, stupid", no excuse | |
| He pulled his hoody off his cabbage rugged practical | |
| And began to fancy the words I mistakenly jostled loose | |
| The stogie he brazenly lit where he sit looked legit | |
| But when the flame touched to the tip I could smell it's of another nit | |
| He leaned his head back and inhaled the newpie dip and said | |
| "The whole design got my mind cryin', if I'm lyin' I'm dyin'... shit" | |
| This is the sound of what you don't know killing you | |
| This is the sound of what you don't believe still true | |
| This is the sound of what you don't want still in you | |
| TPC mother****er, cop a feel or two | |
| The whole design got my mind cryin', if I'm lyin' I'm dyin' | |
| Dyin', I'm flyin', the same line, no disguise, guy... I'm bent up | |
| Know the sky's high by coincidence and I'm tied blind insignificant | |
| To the ground function I'm Munsoned, it's the dreaded 7/10 split again | |
| The medic made it out to be, epidemic shaded... wow for me | |
| Evidence of pressures mounting, residential shroud: King's County | |
| Brotherhood of the working wounded, wounded working city unit | |
| Taking out the trash and strappin in, let's get it movin', stupid | |
| Many men make moves more useless, use abuse quick | |
| Losers, juiceless | |
| Bitch, either speak the truth or you leave toothless | |
| Two fists of the furiously ruthless | |
| Justice for my very own amusement with no regard for the conclusion | |
| I swagger with rats tappin' the glass in a Gov. lab | |
| Pass me the gloves, mask and flask of the cheapest liquor you have | |
| In the back of the tasmanian path, insane again laughin | |
| Cacklin' at the randomness of the city and all its facts | |
| The dark art of interrogation agent skippin' class | |
| And at last in a flash on my tip toes walkin' on cracked glass | |
| Gats blast and wiz by fast or just catch in my calves like "hold that!" | |
| In other words: I'm trash, glad you asked | |
| This is the sound of what you don't know killing you | |
| This is the sound of what you don't believe still true | |
| This is the sound of what you don't want still in you | |
| TPC mother****er, cop a feel or two | |
| Your future's uncertain here now | |
| The plot smears on the wall | |
| Said, your future's uncertain here now | |
| The plot smears on the wall |
| zuo ci : El P | |
| Intro: From the 1992 film " Fire Walk With Me" | |
| Do you think that if you were falling in space | |
| That you would slow down after a while, or go faster and faster? | |
| Faster and faster... | |
| For a long time you wouldn' t feel anything... | |
| Then you would burst into into fire, for ever | |
| And the angel' s won' t help you, ' cause they' ve all gone away... | |
| Un, dos, un, dos, tres, quatro | |
| I saw this kid walking down the street | |
| I was like " wait" echoes | |
| ElP | |
| Bumped into this kid I knew, he often would walk strange | |
| So I ignored the blood on his laces so this cat could save face | |
| The dunks and the gaze stayed in an off grey haze | |
| And the lump in his pocket talked to the ox that he clutched safe | |
| So I saluted him there, waiting for the A | |
| Trapped on the empty platform without the option to escape | |
| Gave him the standard: " Yo, what up man, how you landin'?" | |
| And the hypnotized response was no surprise: " I maintain" | |
| " Yeah we all do, that' s the standardized refrain | |
| But on some really real man, good to see you, really, what the dealy deal?" | |
| Oops, , screwed the pooch, asked too much, knew the truth | |
| On the train now, a caboose | |
| In his brain now, no recluse | |
| 80 Blocks to uptown spot, destination vocal booth | |
| Metrocard like: " you get what you pay for, stupid", no excuse | |
| He pulled his hoody off his cabbage rugged practical | |
| And began to fancy the words I mistakenly jostled loose | |
| The stogie he brazenly lit where he sit looked legit | |
| But when the flame touched to the tip I could smell it' s of another nit | |
| He leaned his head back and inhaled the newpie dip and said | |
| " The whole design got my mind cryin', if I' m lyin' I' m dyin'... shit" | |
| This is the sound of what you don' t know killing you | |
| This is the sound of what you don' t believe still true | |
| This is the sound of what you don' t want still in you | |
| TPC mother er, cop a feel or two | |
| The whole design got my mind cryin', if I' m lyin' I' m dyin' | |
| Dyin', I' m flyin', the same line, no disguise, guy... I' m bent up | |
| Know the sky' s high by coincidence and I' m tied blind insignificant | |
| To the ground function I' m Munsoned, it' s the dreaded 7 10 split again | |
| The medic made it out to be, epidemic shaded... wow for me | |
| Evidence of pressures mounting, residential shroud: King' s County | |
| Brotherhood of the working wounded, wounded working city unit | |
| Taking out the trash and strappin in, let' s get it movin', stupid | |
| Many men make moves more useless, use abuse quick | |
| Losers, juiceless | |
| Bitch, either speak the truth or you leave toothless | |
| Two fists of the furiously ruthless | |
| Justice for my very own amusement with no regard for the conclusion | |
| I swagger with rats tappin' the glass in a Gov. lab | |
| Pass me the gloves, mask and flask of the cheapest liquor you have | |
| In the back of the tasmanian path, insane again laughin | |
| Cacklin' at the randomness of the city and all its facts | |
| The dark art of interrogation agent skippin' class | |
| And at last in a flash on my tip toes walkin' on cracked glass | |
| Gats blast and wiz by fast or just catch in my calves like " hold that!" | |
| In other words: I' m trash, glad you asked | |
| This is the sound of what you don' t know killing you | |
| This is the sound of what you don' t believe still true | |
| This is the sound of what you don' t want still in you | |
| TPC mother er, cop a feel or two | |
| Your future' s uncertain here now | |
| The plot smears on the wall | |
| Said, your future' s uncertain here now | |
| The plot smears on the wall |
| zuò cí : El P | |
| Intro: From the 1992 film " Fire Walk With Me" | |
| Do you think that if you were falling in space | |
| That you would slow down after a while, or go faster and faster? | |
| Faster and faster... | |
| For a long time you wouldn' t feel anything... | |
| Then you would burst into into fire, for ever | |
| And the angel' s won' t help you, ' cause they' ve all gone away... | |
| Un, dos, un, dos, tres, quatro | |
| I saw this kid walking down the street | |
| I was like " wait" echoes | |
| ElP | |
| Bumped into this kid I knew, he often would walk strange | |
| So I ignored the blood on his laces so this cat could save face | |
| The dunks and the gaze stayed in an off grey haze | |
| And the lump in his pocket talked to the ox that he clutched safe | |
| So I saluted him there, waiting for the A | |
| Trapped on the empty platform without the option to escape | |
| Gave him the standard: " Yo, what up man, how you landin'?" | |
| And the hypnotized response was no surprise: " I maintain" | |
| " Yeah we all do, that' s the standardized refrain | |
| But on some really real man, good to see you, really, what the dealy deal?" | |
| Oops, , screwed the pooch, asked too much, knew the truth | |
| On the train now, a caboose | |
| In his brain now, no recluse | |
| 80 Blocks to uptown spot, destination vocal booth | |
| Metrocard like: " you get what you pay for, stupid", no excuse | |
| He pulled his hoody off his cabbage rugged practical | |
| And began to fancy the words I mistakenly jostled loose | |
| The stogie he brazenly lit where he sit looked legit | |
| But when the flame touched to the tip I could smell it' s of another nit | |
| He leaned his head back and inhaled the newpie dip and said | |
| " The whole design got my mind cryin', if I' m lyin' I' m dyin'... shit" | |
| This is the sound of what you don' t know killing you | |
| This is the sound of what you don' t believe still true | |
| This is the sound of what you don' t want still in you | |
| TPC mother er, cop a feel or two | |
| The whole design got my mind cryin', if I' m lyin' I' m dyin' | |
| Dyin', I' m flyin', the same line, no disguise, guy... I' m bent up | |
| Know the sky' s high by coincidence and I' m tied blind insignificant | |
| To the ground function I' m Munsoned, it' s the dreaded 7 10 split again | |
| The medic made it out to be, epidemic shaded... wow for me | |
| Evidence of pressures mounting, residential shroud: King' s County | |
| Brotherhood of the working wounded, wounded working city unit | |
| Taking out the trash and strappin in, let' s get it movin', stupid | |
| Many men make moves more useless, use abuse quick | |
| Losers, juiceless | |
| Bitch, either speak the truth or you leave toothless | |
| Two fists of the furiously ruthless | |
| Justice for my very own amusement with no regard for the conclusion | |
| I swagger with rats tappin' the glass in a Gov. lab | |
| Pass me the gloves, mask and flask of the cheapest liquor you have | |
| In the back of the tasmanian path, insane again laughin | |
| Cacklin' at the randomness of the city and all its facts | |
| The dark art of interrogation agent skippin' class | |
| And at last in a flash on my tip toes walkin' on cracked glass | |
| Gats blast and wiz by fast or just catch in my calves like " hold that!" | |
| In other words: I' m trash, glad you asked | |
| This is the sound of what you don' t know killing you | |
| This is the sound of what you don' t believe still true | |
| This is the sound of what you don' t want still in you | |
| TPC mother er, cop a feel or two | |
| Your future' s uncertain here now | |
| The plot smears on the wall | |
| Said, your future' s uncertain here now | |
| The plot smears on the wall |
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