Інформація про пісню На цій сторінці ви можете ознайомитися з текстом пісні Life Line, виконавця - Dabbla. Пісня з альбому Year of the Monkey, у жанрі Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Дата випуску: 08.09.2016
Вікові обмеження: 18+
Лейбл звукозапису: High Focus
Мова пісні: Англійська
Life Line |
True Story. |
When I was born I was bang on time, 1.25 in the morning |
Doctor said that everything was fine |
It all started with convulsions |
I burst my eardrum when I was one |
I had infections and my temperature was high |
I was two when I got given some shoes |
Werent my mums fault she was trying to protect me |
But pretty soon them outfits would turn into a wardrobe |
Cause no one wants a naked baby walking round the house |
I was three when I took a piece of tracing paper and began to copy things from |
off the T. V |
I got cracked my head open, getting dizzy playing with my brother |
In the back garden in the bungalow on Beven Road |
When I was four I learnt the word more |
More means more, more meant more misbehaving |
More mischief and more cheeky |
More messing about with more tantrums and more swear words |
Five years old, I’m a saint playing with paint trying to make sense of this |
world |
Had my first crush on the girl next door |
And stinging nettles, I should have put two and two together |
At six, i’m told don’t swallow pips, eating weetabix and believing in magic |
tricks |
Church of England school taught us all about heaven |
Hell they drummed it into us quicker than we turned seven |
When I was eight, I was staying up late |
Looking at the stars and waiting for sun break |
When I was nine, I started getting out of line |
Cause I discovered sugar was buzzing like all the time |
When I was ten, I was spitting phlegm |
Playing with my marbles, losing all my friends |
Then I turned eleven, nothing really happened |
Then I turned twelve, still nothing really happened |
Got to thirteen and turned real pervy |
Fancied my French teacher, thoughts got dirty |
Fourteen I was being very, very naughty |
Fifteen I was banging fit bean, bunning sick green |
Sixteen got nicked, seventeen, eighteen done the same shit |
Got my licence to drive and my first whip |
Nineteen, got whipped by my first chick |
Twenty came, real soon I was Twenty One |
That’s a pretty special age for almost anyone |
Everyone who’s been there know’s what it’s like |
Old enough to do it all but still very young |
Twenty two still following the one dream |
Some growing pure green forward some green |
Me and Pringle on the mic, Tang, Jonny K |
Twenty three, Summer holiday the club scene |
Twenty four that was mentioned on first beat |
Linking up with above Devino every Sunday |
Plug the mic in and record it on a mini disc |
Twenty five made our very first mix tape |
Twenty six, spitting raw getting booked abroad |
Hooked up with Dubbledge lips to the floor |
Quit my job started making music full time |
Living long ting on dented they want more |
Whats more I met Rocksta and Big Cobes |
Twenty seven, Armageddon for your ear lobes |
Twenty eight, man I thought that I was heavy weight |
Man I had to switch up the rhyme come twenty nine |
Counted down in weekends 'til your thirty |
Thirty one, should be still young and perky |
Thirty two, I might have a little midlife |
Thirty three, I’ll probably grow my own percy |
Thirty four, fuck it move outta London |
Thirty five, somewhere out in the country |
Thirty six, on some chicken and a goat shit |
Growing my own vegetables |
Thirty seven, fully self sustainable like no-ones going hungry |
Thirty eight, nine, forty, still living naughty |
Clean the rain water with osmosis |
The toaster is hooked up to a generator with a magnet so it don’t need |
electricity |
Don’t believe him? He’s done a lot of reading |
He’s fifty years old now his hairs all receding |
And he’s got a lot of kick in him |
He’s no spring chicken but he’s living off the grid and the feds ain’t nicking |
him |
And he’ll treat you like a sister or brother |
Cause he knows that one good turn deserves another |
He’s sixty years old and his ears are still growing |
And he’s talking all sexy like Mr. Lover Lover |
Word to your mother |
Til an old bugger pushing seventy with no demons |
No regrets, look he’s smiling |
He remembers all them good times but he’s gotta go cause he’s got stuff to do |