Climb Trees 歌词
| 歌曲 | Climb Trees |
| 歌手 | Sage Francis |
| 专辑 | Personal Journals |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Francis | |
| Sun set and sun rise | |
| I'm my own personal light show | |
| Flipping switches...moving from basin bottoms to plateaus | |
| The Earth...manipulates itself beneath me | |
| I stand still...stagnate. | |
| Can't kill...this lagged state | |
| Life...manipulates itself around me, but | |
| I'm dead still | |
| Upright...but dead still | |
| Word is still born... | |
| I will not stoop to the level of the stoop that y'all chill on | |
| If the building's boarded up and the children of the corn -er | |
| Liquor Store don't want to kick it no more... because holes have filled the wall, sneakers are scuffed & toes have become sore | |
| I saw y'all walk from the hood of tough luck | |
| Yeah, if these walls could talk they wouldn't shut the fuck up | |
| Jump in your pick up truck. | |
| Drive from the mountain range | |
| Cash the chips in on your shoulder, cut your losses, die young, count the change | |
| How strange...you think these clouds look lovely? | |
| Smoke signals...manipulate themselves above me | |
| No symbols...are below me enough to overlook | |
| I know you read my every move, | |
| I wrote the book | |
| Mind not the blemishes that are on my premise. | |
| Endlessness is my "to be continued..." | |
| Notice the nervousness in my footnotes when being interviewed | |
| Shaking uncontrollably. "How you doing?" "Not bad...how about you?" | |
| Brought it right back to me like "What've you been up to?" | |
| I don't talk to freaks. | |
| I even ignore my neighbors who live down the stairs | |
| I walk the streets. | |
| And they don't know that | |
| I'm famous in 2000 years | |
| So I say shit loud in their ears and | |
| I spit a wretched verse in their face... | |
| Disrespecting their personal space | |
| In a split second, curtains and drapes get closed | |
| They think they've shut me out, but | |
| I can see their ugly mouth in the shape of "O"s | |
| I'd break their windows with a stone that has a note attatched that says "I hate Jim Crow, and here's a poem to let you know the haps:" "I've got a golden axe and I chop cherry trees down Dead to this world. Bury me now." | |
| I am from a distant place that sits and waits for my belated time to come but its too late | |
| I've missed my fate. | |
| I "F" with the deaf, blind and dumb | |
| My father taught me one thing...how to fire a gun | |
| I don't bother...this is survival for fun | |
| I have become the most sinister sin city slicker ************* cynical dim witted trixter critical shit grinning hipster | |
| Whisper...to my earhole...tell me not to be fearful | |
| Be careful not to make any...sudden...movements | |
| Show me your sole... | |
| I like to study shoe prints | |
| You've stepped to me before! | |
| I can recognize them stubby toes! | |
| I left them guys with bloody clothes. | |
| For a second time...nobody knows | |
| The pain I've seen. | |
| Nobody knows the pain | |
| I've seen | |
| Nobody knows why | |
| I've got a bloody nose or how they made it bleed | |
| Chorus: Climb trees...go out on a limb | |
| To find me...forget about him | |
| Forget about hymns...what are those psalms that you sing | |
| What are those songs that are in your head echoing... | |
| I am not here to make a change. | |
| I break chains | |
| I break dance moves and move | |
| Strange-- | |
| Strange Famous is infamous for inflammatory mission statements | |
| Living in basements with subterranean secret service agents | |
| With little patience. | |
| A pediatrician who hate kids | |
| Women's lib is getting choked to death by their own baby bibs | |
| Baby, did you know | |
| I love women who hate mankind? | |
| I talk about it all the damn time....keep it comin' | |
| HUH!!! "IIIIIIIII HHHHAAAAAAAATE MEEEEEEEENNNNN" | |
| Yeah** This conversation is mine. | |
| I own all the stock in boring small talk, | |
| And I've trade marked this facial expression called the "gawk." | |
| So fuck off. | |
| I dis functions souped by ninjas and hockey fights | |
| All them bitches want me tonight... | |
| I've been so great and respectful | |
| They only get salty when | |
| I bend them into the shape of a pretzel | |
| I make them flexible when | |
| I break their schedule. | |
| It only got hard... | |
| When I asked 'em politely not to fight me and to give a .. | |
| God Damn...this is easier than | |
| I thought it would be | |
| They'll attend any party and not fight it as long as they're invited cordially | |
| Unfortunately, | |
| I've only got so many hundred openings | |
| But talk to me, | |
| I want to take you all under my broken wings | |
| Who's the right man for the job?! | |
| Put up your hands y'all because | |
| I'm not tall enough to stand up to | |
| God Who's the right woman?! | |
| Throw up one hand...and wave it now |
| zuo qu : Francis | |
| Sun set and sun rise | |
| I' m my own personal light show | |
| Flipping switches... moving from basin bottoms to plateaus | |
| The Earth... manipulates itself beneath me | |
| I stand still... stagnate. | |
| Can' t kill... this lagged state | |
| Life... manipulates itself around me, but | |
| I' m dead still | |
| Upright... but dead still | |
| Word is still born... | |
| I will not stoop to the level of the stoop that y' all chill on | |
| If the building' s boarded up and the children of the corn er | |
| Liquor Store don' t want to kick it no more... because holes have filled the wall, sneakers are scuffed toes have become sore | |
| I saw y' all walk from the hood of tough luck | |
| Yeah, if these walls could talk they wouldn' t shut the fuck up | |
| Jump in your pick up truck. | |
| Drive from the mountain range | |
| Cash the chips in on your shoulder, cut your losses, die young, count the change | |
| How strange... you think these clouds look lovely? | |
| Smoke signals... manipulate themselves above me | |
| No symbols... are below me enough to overlook | |
| I know you read my every move, | |
| I wrote the book | |
| Mind not the blemishes that are on my premise. | |
| Endlessness is my " to be continued..." | |
| Notice the nervousness in my footnotes when being interviewed | |
| Shaking uncontrollably. " How you doing?" " Not bad... how about you?" | |
| Brought it right back to me like " What' ve you been up to?" | |
| I don' t talk to freaks. | |
| I even ignore my neighbors who live down the stairs | |
| I walk the streets. | |
| And they don' t know that | |
| I' m famous in 2000 years | |
| So I say shit loud in their ears and | |
| I spit a wretched verse in their face... | |
| Disrespecting their personal space | |
| In a split second, curtains and drapes get closed | |
| They think they' ve shut me out, but | |
| I can see their ugly mouth in the shape of " O" s | |
| I' d break their windows with a stone that has a note attatched that says " I hate Jim Crow, and here' s a poem to let you know the haps:" " I' ve got a golden axe and I chop cherry trees down Dead to this world. Bury me now." | |
| I am from a distant place that sits and waits for my belated time to come but its too late | |
| I' ve missed my fate. | |
| I " F" with the deaf, blind and dumb | |
| My father taught me one thing... how to fire a gun | |
| I don' t bother... this is survival for fun | |
| I have become the most sinister sin city slicker cynical dim witted trixter critical shit grinning hipster | |
| Whisper... to my earhole... tell me not to be fearful | |
| Be careful not to make any... sudden... movements | |
| Show me your sole... | |
| I like to study shoe prints | |
| You' ve stepped to me before! | |
| I can recognize them stubby toes! | |
| I left them guys with bloody clothes. | |
| For a second time... nobody knows | |
| The pain I' ve seen. | |
| Nobody knows the pain | |
| I' ve seen | |
| Nobody knows why | |
| I' ve got a bloody nose or how they made it bleed | |
| Chorus: Climb trees... go out on a limb | |
| To find me... forget about him | |
| Forget about hymns... what are those psalms that you sing | |
| What are those songs that are in your head echoing... | |
| I am not here to make a change. | |
| I break chains | |
| I break dance moves and move | |
| Strange | |
| Strange Famous is infamous for inflammatory mission statements | |
| Living in basements with subterranean secret service agents | |
| With little patience. | |
| A pediatrician who hate kids | |
| Women' s lib is getting choked to death by their own baby bibs | |
| Baby, did you know | |
| I love women who hate mankind? | |
| I talk about it all the damn time.... keep it comin' | |
| HUH!!! " IIIIIIIII HHHHAAAAAAAATE MEEEEEEEENNNNN" | |
| Yeah This conversation is mine. | |
| I own all the stock in boring small talk, | |
| And I' ve trade marked this facial expression called the " gawk." | |
| So fuck off. | |
| I dis functions souped by ninjas and hockey fights | |
| All them bitches want me tonight... | |
| I' ve been so great and respectful | |
| They only get salty when | |
| I bend them into the shape of a pretzel | |
| I make them flexible when | |
| I break their schedule. | |
| It only got hard... | |
| When I asked ' em politely not to fight me and to give a .. | |
| God Damn... this is easier than | |
| I thought it would be | |
| They' ll attend any party and not fight it as long as they' re invited cordially | |
| Unfortunately, | |
| I' ve only got so many hundred openings | |
| But talk to me, | |
| I want to take you all under my broken wings | |
| Who' s the right man for the job?! | |
| Put up your hands y' all because | |
| I' m not tall enough to stand up to | |
| God Who' s the right woman?! | |
| Throw up one hand... and wave it now |
| zuò qǔ : Francis | |
| Sun set and sun rise | |
| I' m my own personal light show | |
| Flipping switches... moving from basin bottoms to plateaus | |
| The Earth... manipulates itself beneath me | |
| I stand still... stagnate. | |
| Can' t kill... this lagged state | |
| Life... manipulates itself around me, but | |
| I' m dead still | |
| Upright... but dead still | |
| Word is still born... | |
| I will not stoop to the level of the stoop that y' all chill on | |
| If the building' s boarded up and the children of the corn er | |
| Liquor Store don' t want to kick it no more... because holes have filled the wall, sneakers are scuffed toes have become sore | |
| I saw y' all walk from the hood of tough luck | |
| Yeah, if these walls could talk they wouldn' t shut the fuck up | |
| Jump in your pick up truck. | |
| Drive from the mountain range | |
| Cash the chips in on your shoulder, cut your losses, die young, count the change | |
| How strange... you think these clouds look lovely? | |
| Smoke signals... manipulate themselves above me | |
| No symbols... are below me enough to overlook | |
| I know you read my every move, | |
| I wrote the book | |
| Mind not the blemishes that are on my premise. | |
| Endlessness is my " to be continued..." | |
| Notice the nervousness in my footnotes when being interviewed | |
| Shaking uncontrollably. " How you doing?" " Not bad... how about you?" | |
| Brought it right back to me like " What' ve you been up to?" | |
| I don' t talk to freaks. | |
| I even ignore my neighbors who live down the stairs | |
| I walk the streets. | |
| And they don' t know that | |
| I' m famous in 2000 years | |
| So I say shit loud in their ears and | |
| I spit a wretched verse in their face... | |
| Disrespecting their personal space | |
| In a split second, curtains and drapes get closed | |
| They think they' ve shut me out, but | |
| I can see their ugly mouth in the shape of " O" s | |
| I' d break their windows with a stone that has a note attatched that says " I hate Jim Crow, and here' s a poem to let you know the haps:" " I' ve got a golden axe and I chop cherry trees down Dead to this world. Bury me now." | |
| I am from a distant place that sits and waits for my belated time to come but its too late | |
| I' ve missed my fate. | |
| I " F" with the deaf, blind and dumb | |
| My father taught me one thing... how to fire a gun | |
| I don' t bother... this is survival for fun | |
| I have become the most sinister sin city slicker cynical dim witted trixter critical shit grinning hipster | |
| Whisper... to my earhole... tell me not to be fearful | |
| Be careful not to make any... sudden... movements | |
| Show me your sole... | |
| I like to study shoe prints | |
| You' ve stepped to me before! | |
| I can recognize them stubby toes! | |
| I left them guys with bloody clothes. | |
| For a second time... nobody knows | |
| The pain I' ve seen. | |
| Nobody knows the pain | |
| I' ve seen | |
| Nobody knows why | |
| I' ve got a bloody nose or how they made it bleed | |
| Chorus: Climb trees... go out on a limb | |
| To find me... forget about him | |
| Forget about hymns... what are those psalms that you sing | |
| What are those songs that are in your head echoing... | |
| I am not here to make a change. | |
| I break chains | |
| I break dance moves and move | |
| Strange | |
| Strange Famous is infamous for inflammatory mission statements | |
| Living in basements with subterranean secret service agents | |
| With little patience. | |
| A pediatrician who hate kids | |
| Women' s lib is getting choked to death by their own baby bibs | |
| Baby, did you know | |
| I love women who hate mankind? | |
| I talk about it all the damn time.... keep it comin' | |
| HUH!!! " IIIIIIIII HHHHAAAAAAAATE MEEEEEEEENNNNN" | |
| Yeah This conversation is mine. | |
| I own all the stock in boring small talk, | |
| And I' ve trade marked this facial expression called the " gawk." | |
| So fuck off. | |
| I dis functions souped by ninjas and hockey fights | |
| All them bitches want me tonight... | |
| I' ve been so great and respectful | |
| They only get salty when | |
| I bend them into the shape of a pretzel | |
| I make them flexible when | |
| I break their schedule. | |
| It only got hard... | |
| When I asked ' em politely not to fight me and to give a .. | |
| God Damn... this is easier than | |
| I thought it would be | |
| They' ll attend any party and not fight it as long as they' re invited cordially | |
| Unfortunately, | |
| I' ve only got so many hundred openings | |
| But talk to me, | |
| I want to take you all under my broken wings | |
| Who' s the right man for the job?! | |
| Put up your hands y' all because | |
| I' m not tall enough to stand up to | |
| God Who' s the right woman?! | |
| Throw up one hand... and wave it now |
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