كلمات Bad Disease

His jacket calls me with obsidian blade He’s got a knack for spittin' blood over red lipstick stains I drank the venom from the cobra 'round his neck Made it my life mission to feel that again He’s got a bad disease, no, no I think it’s rubbin' off on me, no, no He’s got spider silk hands I think I’ve fallen into them The ground he walks upon resigns to dust Pandemonium quivers at his touch My preacher, my undefined creature Consumes me He’s got a bad disease, no, no I think it’s rubbin' off on me, no, no He’s got spider silk hands I think I’ve fallen into them And my infection is the hand on my lower back I have exacted that he's got something that I lack Oh, the power of the man with the switchblade comb He always says, I couldn't manage you on my own He’s got a bad disease, no, no I think it’s rubbin' off on me, no, no He’s got spider silk hands I think I’ve fallen into them