Текст песни: Hi-Fi + перевод

Everytime I don’t feast, I fine dine turn ya

Corpse to bread, turn ya blood into wine

Mr. Disinfected heart pumping garbage, still clogging my veins

I remember nights of loneliness and day full of pain

With the shadows, I would battle till I hemorrhage my brain

Synthetic blunts had me daze for days

I would succumb to my weakness, crazed from the drinking

Locked in a mode, no control overthinking

Weight up on my shoulder, cannot carry it no more

Ears on mute and my eyes on slow-mo

You wouldn’t fuck with the one they call

You wouldn’t fuck with the one they call

Bones, the god of the microphone

Straight out the 517 zone

You wouldn’t fuck with the one they call

You wouldn’t fuck with the one they call

Bones, the god of the microphone

Straight out the 517 zone

You want me to keep going?

Alright

So I was chilling on the corner, and what else?

I was rolling up a blunt, and what else?

Said I was chilling on the corner, and what else?

Said I was rolling up a blunt, and what else?

Bones, the god of the microphone

Перевод песни Hi-Fi