SKOW FT. PIKERS - KÓŁKO I KRZYŻYK

PIKERS  ”BUDDA”  Mixtape
#01  ”Pan Władza”  ( prod. Lister )

Pan Władza

kaz balagane pikers - typ

[Verse 1]
Echoes in the skull, bones rattle like loose change in a pocket full of regrets,
Sweat on the sheets, solo symphony of screams I never let escape the net.
Fingers claw at ghosts, grip slips on the ladder I built from broken bets,
Every step a stutter, tumbling back to the pit where the heart forgets.
Whispers from the walls, "You fumbled again, king of the almost-there throne,"
Mirror cracks a grin, shows the clown crown I wear when I'm alone.
Pills scatter like confetti from a party that ended before it begun,
Chasin' tail lights of dreams that swerve and leave me spun.
Fury bubbles low, a storm in the gut twistin' slow,
Punch the pillow pretendin' it's the face of the me I let go.
Nights bleed into days, a cycle of "why" and "what if" chains,
Solo in the storm, drownin' in the rain of my own dumb pains.

[Chorus]
Alone in the wreckage, fists to the sky but the clouds just laugh,
Fuckin' up the script, every line a glitch, aftermath crash.
Shadows tag along, pullin' strings on this puppet show farce,
Never nail the landing, always the spark that fizzles harsh.

[Verse 2]
Kitchen floor confessions to the fridge hummin' lullabies of loss,
Bottle caps collection, trophies for the nights I crossed my own boss.
Friends fade like smoke signals I misread in the fog of my flaws,
Dial tones mock the calls I chicken out on, clawin' at closed doors.
Double dip in despair, heir to the error, terror in the mirror stare,
Pair of eyes hollow, swallow the sorrow till it chokes the air.
Schemes unravel quick, brick by brick I stack the blame game wall,
Fall through the cracks, tracks of tears map the crawl back to crawl.
Rage ripples out, shout at the void but it spits back silence thick,
Pick at the scabs of "shoulda," blood drips rhythmic, sick tick-tock trick.
Wander the warehouse mind, aisles of "if only" stocked high,
Supply run for sanity always comes up dry.

[Bridge]

[Verse 3]
Ceiling stares back judgmental, paint peels like promises I shred,
Bed a battlefield, bullets of doubt lodged deep in the head.
Solo jam session, guitar strings snap under frantic fret press,
Mess of melodies mournin' the moves I second-guess.
Entendres double-edged, hedge bets on the edge where I ledge-dive,
Alive but barely, parley with the dark that makes me thrive? Nah, jive.
Turkey in the straw, draw the short one every raffle round,
Ground swallows the sound of my stumbles, profound pound.
Ire ignites sporadic, erratic static in the brain pan fry,
Try to tie the noose on the blues but the knot always slips by.
Drift through the driftwood days, waves of "wrong" crash relentless,
Defenseless in the deluge, foolish fuel for the endless.

[Chorus]

[Verse 4]
Drawer full of drafts, half-baked plans that bake in the regret oven,
Shovin' down the doubt but it bubbles up, sudden gut punch lovin'.
Echo chamber solo, polo shirt stained with the sweat of "almost won,"
Done before the dawn, withdrawn from the race I never run.
Fumble fingers on the keys, pleas to the ether go unanswered flat,
Scatterbrained cat chasin' its tail in the trap I set, splat.
Wrath whispers sweet, "Smash it all," but the hammer hand shakes weak,
Leak of fury feeble, retrieval of the pieces? Nah, too bleak.
Rhyme ricochet wild, child of the chill that kills the thrill slow,
Flow folds under the weight of the wait, plate full of "no."
Linger in the limbo lounge, lounge lizard lappin' up the lone,
Bone-tired, wired wrong from the jump, home in the groan.

[Outro Verse]
Final flick of the lighter, ignite the night with a sigh that sighs deep,
Creep through the creep of the keep I can't escape, sleep a thief.
Beef with the reflection, deflection of the truth hits like a brick,
Sick of the script flip, trip on the rip in the seam, quick.
Alone? Yeah, etched in the etch of the etch-a-sketch shake,
Mistake parade marches on, dawn breaks on the fake awake.
Fury fades to flicker, thicker than the mist but mistier still,
Chill pill swallowed whole, hole in the soul that time can't fill.

Alone In The Wreckage

06.rezerwat prod. moody scrag

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