Текст песни Upsweep - Busdriver
Upsweep...
Upsweep...
Can
you,
can
you.
Can
you
hear
me?
I'm
speaking
through
you
The
signal
weakens
from
this
begrizzled
beacon
so
pay
attention
We
painted
our
faces
on
a
permanent
moon
to
avoid
being
type
cast
as
surrogate
coons
But
there
is
no
treatment
for
American
gloom,
so
I'm
taking
my
reverberant
room
and
I'm
gone
far
With
the
money
and
sheet
music
and
discarded
doodles
(yeah)
The
company
they
work
for
cut
spending,
bringing
all
botherisms
to
abrupt
ending
But
if
you
think
it's
me
you're
up-ending
We
could
be
grinding
even
if
it's
gut
wrenching
And
we're
on
one
Like
we're
knee
deep
in
drug-vending,
fuck
lemmings
whose
love
spending
gives
us
the
best
things
Like
a
J
down
the
space
suit
of
sweat
stained
The
undercovers
gave
me
a
cute
pet-name
Now
I'm
being
targeted
by
jet-plane
Because
I'm
so
motherfucking
subversive
With
excessive
panache
I'm
dressed
in
a
sash
My
name
is
a
number,
an
X
and
a
dash
Embedded
in
mass
who
stole
all
the
savings
and
had
sex
with
the
cash
As
far
as
these
lives,
we
get
one
each
And
then
our
bodies
are
tucked
in
the
junk
heap
But
all
these
mistakes
tend
to
cut
deep
I
swear
I
can
hear
you
die
just
a
little
bit
in
the
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Yo
Dangling
in
a
thread
of
my
temporal
lobe
I
thrust
my
fist
up
life's
freckled
nose
Then
walked
around
like
I
genitals
to
hold
It
wasn't
for
embezzled
gold
It
was
just
for
you
and
you
and
you
Don't
propose
a
toast
for
unusual
hosts
Using
musical
notes
to
fuel
the
U-Boats
(You
pricks)
All
the
credit
inside
your
checking
account
Sits
in
a
mechanized
sexless
mouth
And
getting
it
back,
boy,
the
pressure
mounts
So
you're
having
a
stroke
and
the
medic's
en
route
This
is
the
ending
I
was
showing
niggas
that
I
had
exquisite
taste
Now
I'm
locked
out
of
all
of
my
vivid
scapes
And
the
capital
gains
is
a
Christian
faith
Of
the
livid
apes,
staying
in
debate
Over
the
unhappy
lives
that
we
have
to
live
But
we
still
do
it,
eating
inkjets,
building
swing
sets
from
dragon
ribs
All
the
internet
chatter
is
a
by-product
of
my
madness
Turning
me
into
a
vapid
and
glib
capitalist
pig
I
didn't
notice
until
now
that
a
shoe's
a
phone
For
what
reason
would
any
tycoon
atone?
But
for
me
to
find
money
I
need
to
get
a
dune
combed
Because
I'm
so
motherfucking
self-destructive
I'm
caressing
a
rash
from
a
decadent
past
My
judgment
calls
are
second
at
last
I'm
rendered
in
ash
when
I
ingest
the
asp
As
far
as
these
lives,
we
get
one
each
Then
our
bodies
are
tucked
in
the
junk
heap
But
I
can't
afford
all
the
upkeep
I
swear
I
can
hear
myself
die
just
a
little
bit
in
the
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
Upsweep
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