Blood Pt. 2

Buck 65 (Feat. Sufjan Stevens

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Lyrics

You're not bloody swab paradise Your golden stars lick to stick A world with frogs and magic tricks And floating logs and scissor kicks And lemonade and sweaty sex Hug me like I gave you checks And kiss me like the upper crust Tell me things to make me blush Champagne bottle, bon voyage A souvenir garage A melody to make me smile Not that you've been gone awhile A purple medal, eighth place A battler in a trophy case Silences for little Ace Supported like an ankle brace Not bloody cotton swabs and lies Stolen checks and empty eyes You're a county fair in July A Canadian field of wild rye You kiss me like potted plants Bite me like fire ants Touch me like an old stamp Olive oil and seven lamps Not stolen cash, I'll pay you back Bloody paradise attack You're Sunday at the puppy track In time to take the long way back Sweet as the apple of Peru The inklings of the eastern zoo Not bloody cotton swabs and lies Stolen checks and empty eyes I'd rather You are the blood flowing through my fingers (That's what I meant to say Blood in my fingertips I couldn't tell you that any other way) You're all through the soil And up in those trees (You're all the blood that I may see in you That I see in You, you're the blood for me And you're all earth, yo) Yo, you wake me to the smell of butter Sunlight shone through wooden shutters Naked sex and cuffed breasts Early morning back to test Pouring rain and rubber suit Cotton socks and rubber boots A sprint across the parking lot 'Cause that day we were unprepared Dried out socks along the stairs Sound of rain and draining gutters Lightning, seven seconds thunder A mild snack like evening hunger DVDs and VCRs Fish tanks and jelly jars The storm passes, blue Mars Summertime's a move Safety belt in summer cars Lightning bugs to die in jars The air conditioner saving grace Grass stains and flushed face Refreshing like a glass of milk Her shaving legs were like silk Kiss me like a bon voyage A secret souvenir collage Overalls and water parks T tops and baby sharks Dragon rolls and frozen juice Making out in photo booths A lovely Saturday night alone Full of films and bacon pies Not cotton swabs and bloody lies I'll pay you back in plastic eyes You are the blood flowing through my fingers (You're the blood in my fingertips The soil beneath The trees Electricity, light, sound and flight) All through the soil And up in those trees (You are the words with which I write You Are solitude You are electricity and flight)