Текст песни Inside My Shell (feat. Blassdeath) - Blasskill

Standing choices between shades
Questioning voices inside my head
Shitty phrase, feelings fade
Filthy hand, shit I do is in vain
Insert cocaine into my fucking veins
Needles pinching into my fucking brain
Dancing lonely under the rain
Lights are out like the fucking dark hour

Action, lights, cut off
Resonance, moon, mellow
I just killed one of my folks
Now i'm just tryna fall

Fall to be true, fall for me
Fall to be free, far from me
A turning point of no return
A tuning tone of no leaving
Red eyes looking, but they are soothing
I try and try and try but there's no real movement
We get hurt by what we're addicted
And everyone else around is afflicted
We just can't accept it, can we?
We're our own army

Drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk, drunk
I finna put ya on the back of my trunk
I know sad niggas, bad niggas
Who look like they bring hell in a bank
Red sand on a fad

Ugly ass fedora on the top of my head
These lil white dots under my nose ain't cocaine
It's salt, it's sugar
It's my homemade flour, it's cougar
We ain't gon let loose, we cooler
Don't believe me, you a loser

Ooh
I don't know, I don't know
Under 21, it don't come
Under 21, we a savage
If you look at me like that it'll be a fucking carnage, I promise

Me and my girl against the world
Look at me like that i say the word
Look at me like that she gon crush you
I ain't letting no one but her touch me, fuck you

ǫ̵͘͝ๅ̨'ǝ͡n͏̴̶̢̛ʌ̷̢̨̛ ̸̢̛'u͏̵̧͞͠n͏̶͜ ͏̧o̴̴͘͞ๅ̶̵̶̧͡ɐ̨̧'ɓ̷̢̛ǝ̶̛͟͠ɹ̢̛ ͏ǝ̡'͟͞ʇ̸̷'͢ ̷̨͠҉s͜ɐ̸̸͘͠͝ʇ͢͞s̵ǝ̡' ͜ò̵͞ๅ̡͝ ̡̨'͠ᴉ̨͘͞ś ̴͜͡͝·̶̷̵̡͢h̛'͏
̶̧̛'͜o̡͝u͞͞ǝ͟͏҉̷͡ń̛҉'q̷̷̴͟ ̸̵̨͞s̵͟ǝ̡͏̸'͞ ̧"͠o͡͝ú̸' '͢҉ɐ'͠͠ɹ̶"ʇ̸̴̸'u͢o̴̡͘"ɔ̸'҉̴͜ ҉̴̸͏ᴉ̶'͝͠ɯ̧̛͡͏̷ ̶̢̨͝͞u̸ǝ҉̶҉̶ '͞ɹ̴͜҉ɐ̷͘ʇ̸̢͟͢s̵̴'ǝ'͏͢ ̸̢·͜͞Ɛ̴̡̧
̴̷̶̧'ơ̵̶̧̛ๅ̨͜͡͞ǝ͏͘͢͟͏ņ̷̛͢͝s̨̧͢͏ ͏'ๅ͘ǝ̨̨ ̶͞ừ͢͞ǝ̶̴̴҉ ̧͟ò͞ſ̢̧͢͠ǝ̵̨̧'͝p͘'͜͠ ̢"͜ǝ̛͘'͠ʇ̧҉̶͜ ̢'͏̸ş̴̧'͡ǝ'͡͝͏͟ɔ̶̧̧'ɐ̸̧͘͏̨ɥ͏̛ ̨'͠o̴̴̡͠͠ๅ̴̡'͜͝ ̢̛͜͝ᴉ̨͘͟s"͡ ̢̧͞҉·̢͜҉͏'Շ̵̷̨͟
̢͟s̢̧͢͜͝ơ̸̛͠ʌ̶'͜ǝ̨̛̛'n̸̷͜͠ɥ͡ ̸̵̨̢͡s͘o̷̧͘ๅ̵'͘ ͏̴̧͜o͘͝p̵̢͡u̴ɐ̡͏ɔ̛'҉ó̷͟͡͠ʇ͏̨̧͏̢ ̢͡s͢͏ɐ̧̛͜ʎ̡̡͘͟͝ɐ̶͘͜ʌ̶͠͠ ̸"͘͡ǝ͜͞͏͡ɯ̴̨'͏ ̸҉o͏̷̛͟͡ú̶͜ ̸͢͞·͡Ɩ̸̸̨͜
̷̢͘
҉͟ɹ̡̢̢͡ɐ̸̵͠ʇ̵̨'u͘͡ɐ̵̷̢'ๅ̛d̢͞ɯ̵̡"'ᴉ̸̸'҉ ̴͢͟o͏҉'q̧͢ǝ͘͏̷͡ṕ̸̛' ̶̛'ǝ̵͢͢͜n̷̢̛͞b̶͘ ҉'s̢҉͝ɐ̴͜͏ๅ̴̴̛͟ɓ'͏ǝ͟͡ɹ'͞ ̨͝s̶̢͘ɐ̴̨͝͡ๅ̵̷͢
̵̶͏͢ɹ̶̴̛ɐ̵'͘ๅ̴͝҉q̛͢ɯ̶̵'͘ɐ̴̛s̶̡u̸̴̷̢͡ǝ̸͢ ̸͡o͞͏ɹ̢'ǝ̸̛͟͢͞ᴉ̶'͝n҉̶̧͞b̛͠͝҉ ̧̡͝ɐ̧̧͘͜҉p̴̵̢͠͝ɐ̵̡u͘͠͝ ̨҉̸̶'ɹ'͘ǝ̧̡'ɔ͏̧ɐ̵̵͘͞ɥ'͢ ̡̧͝͠ǝ̴̸̛͘'p̷̴̡͘͟ ̧͠͡s̸̶͘ǝ̸҉̷ʇ̡͏̸̷͝ư̴'͡ɐ̸̶̴̛͢ ̸͞"ɹ̶̡̛'ɐ̴'ɹ҉͏̡ɐ̡'͘ๅ̵"͞ɔ̨̢'ɐ҉̢͘ ̢͘͘͜͟ǫ'ɹ͟͞ǝ͜͝ᴉ̷͢ń͘Ὸ'͞
̶͢ɹ҉̡̢͡ɐ̧̡͡͞͠ʇ̷̛͟͟ɐ̧'͠ɯ͘͝͡ ̡̧̛͞ǝ͘p̸̛ ̡̧͘͞s̵̨"ɐ̵͢͢͞ứ̢͡ɐ̸̡͠ɓ'͡ ̢͟͝͞ư̢͘ǝ͏̸̡'͜p̶̴̨'͟ '͡͞ǝ̶͏ɯ̢'͡ '҉̴ǝ̧'n͟͢͏b̧͟ ̷'͠͞ǝ͘͢͠͠ɔ̴̸ɐ͘͟ɥ̧͡
̴̸̷̸ǝ̵ɯ̷҉̨͟ņ̸'͢͞ɟ̨̢͞ɹ̶̴̡'͢ǝ̛'d' ̶͠ǝ̢̢'͝p̴̵'͞҉ ̵'͢͏ɹ̡o͘'͝ๅ̛ò ̡͠͏o̡͢ʇ҉'͡͝n̢̢͘d̨҉̴͟ ̴̸̡͝ๅ̢͡Ǝ'͞͡͠
̷'͟ǝ͢ɯ̴̶̨͟ǹ̴'͜s'͟҉͠ư̵ờ̧ɔ͘͜͠ ̢͠͏̸ǝ̨'͟͡ɯ̴͢ ̷̧'͞ɐ̵̸͜ᴉ͞q̷'͢ɐ̵̛ɹ'͢ ̨̛'҉ɐ͝҉ꓶ̶̡