Back Alley Sound - Circle Back

Watch me turn any song I'm on to Pompeii
Water to Bombay, basic broads to Beyoncés
A seance to small talk then take the Swamp Thing for a spa day
I'm in it for the long haul, leave 'em with the long face
Lawbreaking, flambé another hot take
I need mad props and a cross fade
Y'all shoulda kicked rocks when you waltzed in
You call it balling, I call it blasé
Whipping the cauldron, squad is a blockade
Lucy like blockhead, can't even talk straight
All in my chakras, fuck is a drop date
Walked in a prophet, walked out with one made
Hit a square in the stairwell and hit the stage in a bear pelt, say your farewells - bye bitch
Pray tell, why do y'all take L's while I get a face card and an ace dealt - priceless
Truthfully I'm the coolest loser you'll ever meet
If you trying to represent the renaissance you need to check with me

They circle back like head over heels
My rock bottom's a glass ceiling, for real
If you've been plotting on a jackpot, I can cut you a deal
I keep three eyes on the road, no hands on the wheel

Half-alive and swinging by like a brick through a window
Sick puppy, sour honey, scribble hymns out for your kinfolk
They'll write "heaven-sent and hellbound" on my headstone
My deathbed is a desk chair, only getting fresh air working to the bone

Rock a bandstand or your bandwidth
I was branded outlandish
Treating cribs like kingdoms and airwaves like a canvas
Wrote my stanzas famished, reached Treasure Planet by public transit
I'll take my chances; my enchantress: face on the granite
Understand if I'm giving up the upper hand, it's a knuckle sandwich
Do damage, get a room with a vantage
Now be a lamb and get vanquished
Make some noise for the case and point: yes, I am that dude
Your verses are the wrong kind of dense if you think they feel that, dude
Cause you got Genius on your phone, I just keep mine in my tone
When I create, I destroy; I just can't leave well enough alone, I know
From the stained glass to the stucco, I was on the cusp, I was in the cut like blood flow
I was coming up so gung-ho; goosebumps when I run amok, turn a function to a fuck show
It's go time till the bovines come home, slow ride to a goal line I wrote
No time for the rat race there's a gold mine between backstage and the front row

They circle back like head over heels
My rock bottom's a glass ceiling, for real
If you've been plotting on a jackpot, I can cut you a deal
I keep three eyes on the road, no hands on the wheel

Half-alive and swinging by like a brick through a window
Sick puppy, sour honey, scribble hymns out for your kinfolk
They'll write "heaven-sent and hellbound" on my headstone
My deathbed is a desk chair, only getting fresh air working to the bone

HEY

Bada duh duh duh duh duh duh
Bada duh duh duh duh duh duh
Bada duh duh duh duh duh duuuh

Half-alive and swinging by like a brick through a window
Sick puppy, sour honey, scribble hymns out for your kinfolk
They'll write "heaven-sent and hellbound" on my headstone
My deathbed is a desk chair, only getting fresh air working to the
Only getting fresh air working to the
Only getting fresh air working to the

Written by:
Cole Marks

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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