ELLY + WEBBY + LUKA + AMY - #FR (PROD. AMYAXEGALE)

voss (raw) p.8balleddy

IRON MIC REMIX OF " I REALLY MEAN IT " BY THE DIPLOMATS
MIX/MASTER: SYRYUS
DESIGN: KILL TRAVIS
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of art and does not reflect the views of the artist(s). All content is fictional.

I Really Mean It RMX [SOUNDCLOUD EXCLUSIVE]

Sidney Phillips - SidneySoprano

shoutout MAREK DAVID
MIX/MASTER: BEAMAH
DESIGN: KILL TRAVIS
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of art and does not reflect the views of the artist(s). All content is fictional.

You coming across brash, I'm a barracuda at the drop off
Don't hand me sweaty cash lad, why's the dosh hot
Lips locked but I get about as a judgey cunt
So careful what you spout like a budgie bra
Used to send soaked paper in the post
Now it's ancient symbols on consignment
Me and MD, we're self aggrandising
Go get some leads, you might catch a sighting
He's shifting nearer through the tundra, white sea
Or could find yourself staggering out from under gum trees
Wish and hoping it was all delirious dreams

Watch where you goin, hungry clay of the dry-out creek
Sucks at feet same as giant leech
Or get gulped by the thaw slush melt
End up in a museum like a boar tusk helm
I got lots more to tell, come dive, need no mask or bell
Through complots we'll delve
So many white Os dacked and dealt
I granted myself a championsniff belt
I'm feeding on fungi while fungi feed on you
So what's that make you cuzzy? Some ring-worm food
Blow fly insect fuck in your piss-take skin suit

Like throwing petrol off the roof
Fire unleashed cleans, I'm living proof
My five eights, chinas, mates, my droogs
We're dug in deep like a fort or roots
I've got a black lake in my eye
Don't look too deep, might start to cry
I've got a black lake in my eye
Don't look too deep might start to cry

Everyone already knows 'bout my belt
Exile celt in Aussie panther pelt
Might be archaic but this glaive is still apotropaic
Get skewered, dragged upon the dais by chanting magus
On exchange speaking Gaelic
Tells a tale but you don't really want him to say it
Staffs, sickles and silvery bushland
Druids out at Anglesea making a stand
I eat raw lorikeets in the sand
Your meat all comes out a can
Embezzling gnosis of the local region
One on every continent, hebdomads thieving
Ineffable like Leviathan rhombus
Measure my skull, muse bout its contents
More ominous than a long text
I arrive in the night, gnashing with bong breath

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