Obsolete The Orphanage
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Obsolete" by The Orphanage. Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
[Verse 1: Illogic]
Open a window and close the air vents
And if you're lucky than you'll miss the glass and crack your neck on the blacktop
Time mad foolery invaded rap stock
While I bury words in soil, reaping cash crop
You had a laughingstock and I'll lead you to the slaughter
An example of how to treat men if I ever have a daughter
Puff after puff, exhale after inhale
Rush after rush, re-up after next sale
And that's my life and at times I'm probably dreaming
'Cause this race is a figure-eight, no deviation from weaving
Webs are worse for heads with precision of arachnids
I'm a mattress, I'm stroking my pen just for practice
Night after night, spawns visit my bedroom
To confirm the fact that the roses would be dead soon
Surface intestinal fortitude with a red spoon
And damned to the evening as the moon is fed bloom
[Verse 2: Slug]
Yo the circle keeps me laughing loud
About how the clitoris within your disposition is projected outward
Got a crowd of mother figures, got a lot of love to give ya
As I sift through the under-nourished gift
Open a window and close the air vents
And if you're lucky than you'll miss the glass and crack your neck on the blacktop
Time mad foolery invaded rap stock
While I bury words in soil, reaping cash crop
You had a laughingstock and I'll lead you to the slaughter
An example of how to treat men if I ever have a daughter
Puff after puff, exhale after inhale
Rush after rush, re-up after next sale
And that's my life and at times I'm probably dreaming
'Cause this race is a figure-eight, no deviation from weaving
Webs are worse for heads with precision of arachnids
I'm a mattress, I'm stroking my pen just for practice
Night after night, spawns visit my bedroom
To confirm the fact that the roses would be dead soon
Surface intestinal fortitude with a red spoon
And damned to the evening as the moon is fed bloom
[Verse 2: Slug]
Yo the circle keeps me laughing loud
About how the clitoris within your disposition is projected outward
Got a crowd of mother figures, got a lot of love to give ya
As I sift through the under-nourished gift
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