Song parody of

Intoxicant Waves

by Tyler, the Creator

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  • English (English)
  • Français (French)
  • Español (Spanish)

Go forth, emissary Who makes it back I hope that I'm back Intoxicate Who makes it back You wouldn't turn back Fed on obsidian Scarred, enflamed, then raised my own My mind, found inverted Furrows of grief outgrown Face down the predicate foe Face down its will to hurt Or its replete will to nothing Distortion almost contact claws right out of my body Not of the crown, but of my flesh To distillate my fate was sent over the veil with the rest Finally cleared the crest What do I do with the black oil seeping out my pores

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