Bidding On His Soul

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Kinny

Kinny is a musical artist known for her soulful and jazzy vocals. With a unique blend of genres including funk, reggae, and hip-hop, Kinny has captivated audiences with her powerful voice and emotive performances. Her music often incorporates socially conscious lyrics, telling stories of love, empowerment, and personal experiences. Kinny's discography showcases her versatile talent, ranging from upbeat and energetic tracks to heartfelt and introspective ballads. Her music resonates with a wide range of listeners, making her an accomplished and respected artist in the music industry. more »

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Roll up, Roll up
For a man who's souls fucked
Start bidding at a hundred
What's this? Hold up
He's twenty two, and a life ahead
And still no hands
Subdued and well read
He could be worth grands
You must see it
That darkness
That glides along the surface
Must feel it
His sharpness
Does it make you nervous?
When people get hit
With my A-Class shit
So honourable
Fill a hole on the honour roll
So gracious I'll take this
A place that's tasteless
Chafed waist down
Body paint is laced with (semen)
I'm killing any villian hidden vials of penicillin
feeling real and chilling billing willing foes
And I expose those bros with they
Dead flows, flows dead
Fucked mate brown bread.
Me there instead.
This bastard he's dastardly
Mastered the casualties
Casually razing the
Last of the faculty.
Having me passing the
Passion he's lacking see
Flashing the trash as he
Cashes on flattery.
Battery's axiomatic
and static
Makes bodies
all up in the attic (I'll twat him)
Back is a target
Hard hitting tar pit
Roll up the body
It fits in a carpet.
Tell me again,
Why does nobody want this boy
He's ready for purchase.
Surely someone must see his value
Yeah his arms are kinda skinny
And his hair is kinda red
So if your bidding on his soul
Then I guess he might as well be dead.
You want a psychopath
A killer well I just did.
Ain't no motherfucker
Call me well adjusted.
I killed my bitches mother
Cuz I look good all in black
And then I away her wheelchair
And she still came crawling back.
I've dealt with camper fans.
So tamp us into camper vans.
Then stamp on down to Camber Sands
Where pussy's packed for dapper mans
She's meaning and like ampersand
Like me and her plus half a grand
Of odds and end of medicines
Till I love lamp like Anchorman.
Get a custom thrust on
Lust on blondies
Trust gone, bust on
Trusting zombies
I gotta get ahead of this
I gotta get a therapist
My minds fucked up
Am I a cuck-boy feminist
Or f*ck-boy Marxist
I ain't no Leninist
Part of my base
Don't know who Lenin is
So part of my face
Don't know bout smiling
I got a taste for some
Real hot style
Roll up, Roll up
For a man who's souls fucked
Start bidding at a hundred
What's this? Hold up
He's twenty two, and a life ahead
And still no hands
Subdued and well read
Could be worth grands

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