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RU: 0-9 А Б В Г Д Е Ж З И К Л М Н О П Р С Т У Ф Х Ц Ч Ш Щ Э Ю Я
EN: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

Текст (слова) песни: House Of Pain - Third Stone From The Sun



Here come the pecker
Wood mic wrecker
Sweet like nectar
MC selector
Come again, keep the style I`m bustin`
You think I`m droppin` acid ???only super cold does it???
Feel the rushin` through your blood and cerebellum
And any man that defies, eyes will be swellin`
So whatcha smellin`, kid, I`ll bust your melon
Then I spit out the seed, you got dirty deeds
You`re done, dirt cheap, I`m on the greek don`t sleep
Melee cause the circus, but bullets run deep
And talk is cheap, kid, it`s time to make moves
It`s time to make capital gains with my brains
The song remains, the same as it ever was
And you can say my crew`s fallin` but it never does
I`m white chocolate, clockwork apocalypse
Inter-dimensional like Prince be sensual
My interplanetary sub-galactic tactic
Got ya wearin` vests like prophylactics
My verbal waters rock your sons and daughters
And I`ll tell more lies than priests and rabbis
And all the allies put together in a cipher
My skin`s my cell, no parole on my life

CHORUS:
Doin` time on the third stone from the sun
Lucy got me on the run, kid, hold my gun
I`m dealin` with the pressures, son, life ain`t fun
Doin` time on the third stone from the sun

I`ll be gettin` down and dirty by 2030
Sippin` off my forty, out deep in your shorty
Lordy, glory, hallelujah
Like a big Samoan my sig`s gonna boo ya
Do-a-ditty, oh what a pity
I`m blowin` up the spot like Oklahoma City
We might terrorism and hold plagerism
And blood shot vision `cause I smoke major `ism
If you got sob stories, kid, don`t tell me `bout `em
`Cause them tin boots you wearin` I`m a lift you outta `em
With two shots to your bid, I ain`t playin` kid
I know the games that you runnin` and all the things you did
And you`ll say `holy cow` if my gun go blaow
Click-bang, watch me do my thang
My element`s in order, my attribute`s eternal
And all you duck MC`s are smellin` just like the Colonel
You`re all fried chicken with your back side lickin`
I`ll play you like a snitch with the ice pick stickin`
Out your eye socket and if I wanna cock it
I play remelzee and pull it out my pocket
I pull it out my pocket, I pull it out my pocket
Yeah, I play remelzee and pull it out my pocket

CHORUS

 

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