wombaticus rex – thirtyseven lyrics
been having dark nights lately, and serious doubts
feeling like i drove another year in the ground
pacing round the kitchen with a beer in my mouth
but thirtyseven is a name that you’ll be hearing about
chyo — i went from therapists to anger management
i f-cking hate myself and i’m still insanely arrogant
inhumane is back, so kiss my famous -ss
i’m still blazing tracks and drinking outta paper bags
i figure rhythm is basically math
buck naked and smashed drunk, taking a bath, uh
i say “f-ck” because it hits you like an uppercut sucker punch
driving out the demons that you suffer from
talk business, drop physics long distance
and scare the sh-t outta fake babylon christians
you know the type…who can’t take their own advice
stop p-ssing judgement like they know they’re right
spit focused light, hick poltergiest rips open mics
with some bl–dy lips cuz i hit broken pipes
moon wookies — shouts to the fam
catch me out in the van with half an ounce in my hand
like “you see these trees? i got some pcp
and i’m about to black out for at least three weeks”
the edible, the smokable, the liquid, the lines
putting back acid ten-strips at a time
my ego is bulletproff, metal and gl-ss
so i’ll never react to your pathetic attacks
know the facts, keep it 360 zodiac
and make it heavy like a kodiak with a broken back
(chorus)
it’s the rap rasputin mutant, scattering words
and patterns emerge with a parabola curve
i aim for eye contact, tried to connect
and get your nerve cl-sters up inside of my head
i’m nothing special….a dude with a plan
two hundred grand, and removable hands
a diseased mind….and i still bleed rhymes
building pyramids with one mic and three eyes
keep my brain active with strange tactics:
change habits, f-ck demons and slay dragons
producing some beats, handing out my music for free
and having all the usual dreams of losing my t–th
wake up, floss and brush, take lots of drugs
get my brain going with that coffee rush
and yes…my hot production cost me nothing
“who’s your dj?”
that’s a long discussion, plus he only talks in russian, f-ck it
(chorus)
wombat’s wasted….hilarious, right?
my mouth is a burial site for stereotypes
people drive home with their mind blown
whenever i throw live shows in your local time zone
eyes closed….pineal spits, divine flow
cuz rocking spots properly provides dough
but keep it calm, cuz all your phantom enemies
and random memories are just a dance of energy
it’s thirtyseven with the emptiness inside of the form
i work with perfect circles from the eye of the storm
i got a face you can trust…but haven’t shaved it in months
and i’m just not famous enough to blame it on drugs
friday night, crystal lake property
and i been ripping fakes in tripping states constantly
i think about selling out…but never done it
i got an empty stomach and i paid for every penny of it
but don’t laugh, cuz it could happen to you
i mean…are you riding the beat, or just trapped in the groove?
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