Lyrics DJ Sammy B-Side - Jam Baxter - Banana Shaped Armour Plates

Verse 1

I was jamming in the perfect cocoon
Furnish the room with your lost loves, spot sluts, stir with a spoon
In a cloth cot, washed up, served and consumed
Welcome to life in your thermal balloon
Reversible tune
Gas powered, now we’ll stay static in a straightjacket perched on a moon
With the serpents to ???? (blues?)
And when the tower shakes nowadays bricks never burn in the fumes
Like sour snake venom soup brewed with a pint of rage
Microwave gloop, a recluse in the tiger cage
Boot from the tidal wave, swarms come pouring in
I’d rather be the claw then the snore thumb snorkelling
Forked tongues waddle in
In a padded cave
Black and grey barricades hack away
Hammer spade pick shovel lips scuttle gash-wards
Bliss bubbles burst as the limbs scuttle backwards
With tin door slamming, pitch fork jabbing at a pot of blue solitude
Distraught grabbing at my cobbered shoes, what have you shit storms crashing
The result of some piss poor planning
Sit crystal listening to supreme silence
Soon these routines do seem timeless
And while the true gloom shoos these spiders
I’ma break loose to the blue scene skywards

Chorus

From banana shaped armour plates
Half awake, burn in the lava lake
Curse of a castaway
Break out, break out, break out, break out
Hammer spade pick shovel blade
Break out

Verse 2

It’s like, shit, there’s a whole world outside
Turns out life in this cursed town’s live
From the burnt out rides on forgotten piers rusting
To tin-can alley cats shotting gear hunched in the top of weird dustbins
The pick of the litter sits on trap doors, slack jaws
Spitting ta brittle bricks
And hidden bliss trickles from a slit in the sinner’s wrist
Still equipped and bitter but as if I’ma give a shit
The visceral vision kid
A summer sun’s message
Captured in a caterpillars butter bug, send it
A tub of done relics
Lost days of lunacy
The deposits of flambéed immunity
Stop face the munity
Bored in the King’s dinghy
Shit’s grippy for fixed skins and Sin City
Sit pretty
Snooze with the blue shaman
And a few patients suit for the mutations
A new nation
Where the stars mark the boundaries
It’s the rise of the half-hearted Valkyries
Wagwan when half of my spars started doubting me?
What? They wanna carve half a pound of me out?
I’ll start devouring me with see-through cleavers
Sweet-tooth geezers that breeze through litres
The streets ooze bleakness
Collapse in the thick of it
It’s back to the chrysalis
Baxter, in a fit