Song parody of
Conjured for You
by Young Wood
Here's where you get creative! Use our cool song parody creator to make a totally new musical idea and lyrics for the Conjured for You song by Young Wood.
Simply click on any word to get rhyming words suggestion to use instead of the original ones. You may also remove or alter entire lines if needed — when you're done save your work and share it with our community — have fun!
I think I wanna see what's behind the black shroud
I think I'm gonna go and get lost in the crowd
I think you're gonna like what I've conjured for you
You're probably gonna thank the lord you came to
Mouth full of dust
Gotta make a choice between yourself and me so do what you must
Trapped in a well
The water keeps rising, doesn't matter what's the name of the swell
I think we're gonna release what's been building up rage
And then we're gonna point at each other in blame
We're probably gonna rip out our eyes and our nails
And then we'll wanna see what caused our grip to fail
I'd rather be a less than fortunate son
Bearing the pain in my feet from my father's run
I'd like to have a more compassionate will
Warm in the coat made of skin from my father's kill
As I tear through the days I might find
That the face that I've been painting wasn't ever really mine
Veins full of clay
The horror stories always set the scene on just a routine day
I think I wanna see what's behind the black shroud
I think I'm gonna go and get lost in the crowd
I think you're gonna like what I've conjured for you
You're probably gonna thank the lord you came to
Mouth full of dust
Gotta make a choice between yourself and me so do what you must
Trapped in a well
The water keeps rising, doesn't matter what's the name of the swell
I think we're gonna release what's been building up rage
And then we're gonna point at each other in blame
We're probably gonna rip out our eyes and our nails
And then we'll wanna see what caused our grip to fail
I'd rather be a less than fortunate son
Bearing the pain in my feet from my father's run
I'd like to have a more compassionate will
Warm in the coat made of skin from my father's kill
As I tear through the days I might find
That the face that I've been painting wasn't ever really mine
Veins full of clay
The horror stories always set the scene on just a routine day
