9-5ers Anthem Lyrics

Song	9-5ers Anthem
Artist	Aesop Rock
Album	Labor Days
Download	Image LRC TXT

	作词 : Aesop Rock
	Shit... Vanessa, what time is it? aw, **** ...
	I'm late again.
	Zoom in to the fuming of an aggravated breed
	Via the study of post-adolescent agitated seeds.
	Half the patients wasted self prior to commencement,
	So I focus on the urban
	Oxygen samples, the half that made it breathe.
	This old Pompeii impression sways infection in 12 steps or less
	And cretins swiftly tippy-toe on hard to swallow barter concepts.
	The give-it/get-it never let itself past wrought iron stubbornness.
	Martyrs talk funny causes into a harvesting
	Spartacus and so on...
	I throw long
	Hail Mary bombs
	Toward cookie-cutter
	Mother Nature's bedazzled synthetic fabrics.
	Life treats the peasants like
	They tried to **** his woman while he slept inside,
	While they're merely chasing perfectionist emblems.
	When the clock strikes
	Nine I'll be waking with the best of the routine caffeine team players
	For the cycle of it.
	Under a dusted angel harp-string,
	Big Brother is watching
	My odometer like buzzard to fallen elk, hawkin' stealth.
	We got babies, rubber stamps, and briefcase parts.
	We on some door-to-door now,
	Order ten dollars or more we'll shove it down your throat for free.
	I sacrifice my inborn tendencies for copper pennies
	From one commander 'gimme that' so he can retain baby fat.
	Mega biter snake bedlam,
	Holocaust freak heckle shiesty brain headroom shake planet.
	Make a move, pause, make a move, break cannon.
	Bend barrel 180 u-turn, squeeze, end it.
	It's on like it's never been,
	It's bleeding well,
	It's bigger than a breadbox,
	It corrodes my leaky finance.
	I take my seat atop the
	Brooklyn Bridge
	With a Coke and a bag of chips
	To watch a thousand lemmings plummet
	Just because the first one slipped.
	Sometimes
	I laugh at victory, kissing these little question marks.
	I tend to underestimate my average.
	Just another bastard savage.
	Someday you'll all eat out of my cold hand
	Cuz every dog has its day
	At which point,
	I'll pull it away.
	We the American working population
	Hate the fact that eight hours a day
	Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn't us
	And we may not hate our jobs,
	But we hate jobs in general
	That don't have to do with fighting our own causes.
	We the American working population
	Hate the nine-to-five day-in/day-out
	When we'd rather be supporting ourselves
	By being paid to perfect the pasttimes
	That we have harbored based solely on the fact
	That it makes us smile if it sounds dope...
	It's the Year of the
	Silkworm.
	Everything
	I built burned yesterday.
	Let's display the purpose that these stilts serve.
	Elevate the spreading of the silk germ.
	Trying to weave a web but all
	I believe in is dead.
	Nah brother, it's the
	Year of the
	Jackal. Saddle up on high horse.
	My torch forced
	Polaris embarrassed.
	Shackle up the hassle by the doom and legend marriage.
	I bought some new sneakers,
	I just hope my legacy matches.
	It's the Year of the
	Landshark.
	Dry as sand--parched--damn, get these men some water.
	They're out there being slaughtered
	In meaningless wars so you don't have to bother
	And can sit and soak the idiot box, trying to **** their daughters.
	Man, it's the
	Year of the
	Orphan. Seated adjacent to the fireflies circling the torches on your porches.
	Trying to guard the fortress of a king they've never seen or met
	But all are trained to murder at the first sign of a threat.
	Maybe it's the
	Year of the
	Water Bug.
	Cockroach.
	Utter thug specimen.
	Fury spawned from dreaming of your next of kin.
	I'm still dealing with this mess
	I'm in. I've been the object of your ridicule.
	You've been a bitch lieutenant.
	God, it's the
	Year of the
	Underpaid
	Employee Spitting forty plus a week
	And trying to rape earth in my off time.
	You bored dizzy,
	I can't keep myself busy enough
	So you can run, run, run,
	And I'ma let you think you won.
	EVERYBODY!
	We the American working population
	Hate the fact that eight hours a day
	Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn't us
	And we may not hate our jobs,
	But we hate jobs in general
	That don't have to do with fighting our own causes.
	We the American working population
	Hate the nine to five day-in/day-out
	But we'd rather be supporting ourselves
	By being paid to perfect the pasttimes
	That we have harbored based solely on the fact
	That it makes us smile if it sounds dope.
	OUTRO Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen.
	Pour myself a cup of ambition.
	And yawn and stretch, my life is a mess,
	And if I never make it home today,
	God bless.
	Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen.
	Pour myself a cup of ambition.
	And yawn and stretch, my life is a mess,
	And if I never make it home today,
	God bless.

	zuo ci : Aesop Rock
	Shit... Vanessa, what time is it? aw, ...
	I' m late again.
	Zoom in to the fuming of an aggravated breed
	Via the study of postadolescent agitated seeds.
	Half the patients wasted self prior to commencement,
	So I focus on the urban
	Oxygen samples, the half that made it breathe.
	This old Pompeii impression sways infection in 12 steps or less
	And cretins swiftly tippytoe on hard to swallow barter concepts.
	The giveit getit never let itself past wrought iron stubbornness.
	Martyrs talk funny causes into a harvesting
	Spartacus and so on...
	I throw long
	Hail Mary bombs
	Toward cookiecutter
	Mother Nature' s bedazzled synthetic fabrics.
	Life treats the peasants like
	They tried to his woman while he slept inside,
	While they' re merely chasing perfectionist emblems.
	When the clock strikes
	Nine I' ll be waking with the best of the routine caffeine team players
	For the cycle of it.
	Under a dusted angel harpstring,
	Big Brother is watching
	My odometer like buzzard to fallen elk, hawkin' stealth.
	We got babies, rubber stamps, and briefcase parts.
	We on some doortodoor now,
	Order ten dollars or more we' ll shove it down your throat for free.
	I sacrifice my inborn tendencies for copper pennies
	From one commander ' gimme that' so he can retain baby fat.
	Mega biter snake bedlam,
	Holocaust freak heckle shiesty brain headroom shake planet.
	Make a move, pause, make a move, break cannon.
	Bend barrel 180 uturn, squeeze, end it.
	It' s on like it' s never been,
	It' s bleeding well,
	It' s bigger than a breadbox,
	It corrodes my leaky finance.
	I take my seat atop the
	Brooklyn Bridge
	With a Coke and a bag of chips
	To watch a thousand lemmings plummet
	Just because the first one slipped.
	Sometimes
	I laugh at victory, kissing these little question marks.
	I tend to underestimate my average.
	Just another bastard savage.
	Someday you' ll all eat out of my cold hand
	Cuz every dog has its day
	At which point,
	I' ll pull it away.
	We the American working population
	Hate the fact that eight hours a day
	Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn' t us
	And we may not hate our jobs,
	But we hate jobs in general
	That don' t have to do with fighting our own causes.
	We the American working population
	Hate the ninetofive dayin dayout
	When we' d rather be supporting ourselves
	By being paid to perfect the pasttimes
	That we have harbored based solely on the fact
	That it makes us smile if it sounds dope...
	It' s the Year of the
	Silkworm.
	Everything
	I built burned yesterday.
	Let' s display the purpose that these stilts serve.
	Elevate the spreading of the silk germ.
	Trying to weave a web but all
	I believe in is dead.
	Nah brother, it' s the
	Year of the
	Jackal. Saddle up on high horse.
	My torch forced
	Polaris embarrassed.
	Shackle up the hassle by the doom and legend marriage.
	I bought some new sneakers,
	I just hope my legacy matches.
	It' s the Year of the
	Landshark.
	Dry as sandparcheddamn, get these men some water.
	They' re out there being slaughtered
	In meaningless wars so you don' t have to bother
	And can sit and soak the idiot box, trying to their daughters.
	Man, it' s the
	Year of the
	Orphan. Seated adjacent to the fireflies circling the torches on your porches.
	Trying to guard the fortress of a king they' ve never seen or met
	But all are trained to murder at the first sign of a threat.
	Maybe it' s the
	Year of the
	Water Bug.
	Cockroach.
	Utter thug specimen.
	Fury spawned from dreaming of your next of kin.
	I' m still dealing with this mess
	I' m in. I' ve been the object of your ridicule.
	You' ve been a bitch lieutenant.
	God, it' s the
	Year of the
	Underpaid
	Employee Spitting forty plus a week
	And trying to rape earth in my off time.
	You bored dizzy,
	I can' t keep myself busy enough
	So you can run, run, run,
	And I' ma let you think you won.
	EVERYBODY!
	We the American working population
	Hate the fact that eight hours a day
	Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn' t us
	And we may not hate our jobs,
	But we hate jobs in general
	That don' t have to do with fighting our own causes.
	We the American working population
	Hate the nine to five dayin dayout
	But we' d rather be supporting ourselves
	By being paid to perfect the pasttimes
	That we have harbored based solely on the fact
	That it makes us smile if it sounds dope.
	OUTRO Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen.
	Pour myself a cup of ambition.
	And yawn and stretch, my life is a mess,
	And if I never make it home today,
	God bless.
	Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen.
	Pour myself a cup of ambition.
	And yawn and stretch, my life is a mess,
	And if I never make it home today,
	God bless.

	zuò cí : Aesop Rock
	Shit... Vanessa, what time is it? aw, ...
	I' m late again.
	Zoom in to the fuming of an aggravated breed
	Via the study of postadolescent agitated seeds.
	Half the patients wasted self prior to commencement,
	So I focus on the urban
	Oxygen samples, the half that made it breathe.
	This old Pompeii impression sways infection in 12 steps or less
	And cretins swiftly tippytoe on hard to swallow barter concepts.
	The giveit getit never let itself past wrought iron stubbornness.
	Martyrs talk funny causes into a harvesting
	Spartacus and so on...
	I throw long
	Hail Mary bombs
	Toward cookiecutter
	Mother Nature' s bedazzled synthetic fabrics.
	Life treats the peasants like
	They tried to his woman while he slept inside,
	While they' re merely chasing perfectionist emblems.
	When the clock strikes
	Nine I' ll be waking with the best of the routine caffeine team players
	For the cycle of it.
	Under a dusted angel harpstring,
	Big Brother is watching
	My odometer like buzzard to fallen elk, hawkin' stealth.
	We got babies, rubber stamps, and briefcase parts.
	We on some doortodoor now,
	Order ten dollars or more we' ll shove it down your throat for free.
	I sacrifice my inborn tendencies for copper pennies
	From one commander ' gimme that' so he can retain baby fat.
	Mega biter snake bedlam,
	Holocaust freak heckle shiesty brain headroom shake planet.
	Make a move, pause, make a move, break cannon.
	Bend barrel 180 uturn, squeeze, end it.
	It' s on like it' s never been,
	It' s bleeding well,
	It' s bigger than a breadbox,
	It corrodes my leaky finance.
	I take my seat atop the
	Brooklyn Bridge
	With a Coke and a bag of chips
	To watch a thousand lemmings plummet
	Just because the first one slipped.
	Sometimes
	I laugh at victory, kissing these little question marks.
	I tend to underestimate my average.
	Just another bastard savage.
	Someday you' ll all eat out of my cold hand
	Cuz every dog has its day
	At which point,
	I' ll pull it away.
	We the American working population
	Hate the fact that eight hours a day
	Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn' t us
	And we may not hate our jobs,
	But we hate jobs in general
	That don' t have to do with fighting our own causes.
	We the American working population
	Hate the ninetofive dayin dayout
	When we' d rather be supporting ourselves
	By being paid to perfect the pasttimes
	That we have harbored based solely on the fact
	That it makes us smile if it sounds dope...
	It' s the Year of the
	Silkworm.
	Everything
	I built burned yesterday.
	Let' s display the purpose that these stilts serve.
	Elevate the spreading of the silk germ.
	Trying to weave a web but all
	I believe in is dead.
	Nah brother, it' s the
	Year of the
	Jackal. Saddle up on high horse.
	My torch forced
	Polaris embarrassed.
	Shackle up the hassle by the doom and legend marriage.
	I bought some new sneakers,
	I just hope my legacy matches.
	It' s the Year of the
	Landshark.
	Dry as sandparcheddamn, get these men some water.
	They' re out there being slaughtered
	In meaningless wars so you don' t have to bother
	And can sit and soak the idiot box, trying to their daughters.
	Man, it' s the
	Year of the
	Orphan. Seated adjacent to the fireflies circling the torches on your porches.
	Trying to guard the fortress of a king they' ve never seen or met
	But all are trained to murder at the first sign of a threat.
	Maybe it' s the
	Year of the
	Water Bug.
	Cockroach.
	Utter thug specimen.
	Fury spawned from dreaming of your next of kin.
	I' m still dealing with this mess
	I' m in. I' ve been the object of your ridicule.
	You' ve been a bitch lieutenant.
	God, it' s the
	Year of the
	Underpaid
	Employee Spitting forty plus a week
	And trying to rape earth in my off time.
	You bored dizzy,
	I can' t keep myself busy enough
	So you can run, run, run,
	And I' ma let you think you won.
	EVERYBODY!
	We the American working population
	Hate the fact that eight hours a day
	Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn' t us
	And we may not hate our jobs,
	But we hate jobs in general
	That don' t have to do with fighting our own causes.
	We the American working population
	Hate the nine to five dayin dayout
	But we' d rather be supporting ourselves
	By being paid to perfect the pasttimes
	That we have harbored based solely on the fact
	That it makes us smile if it sounds dope.
	OUTRO Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen.
	Pour myself a cup of ambition.
	And yawn and stretch, my life is a mess,
	And if I never make it home today,
	God bless.
	Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen.
	Pour myself a cup of ambition.
	And yawn and stretch, my life is a mess,
	And if I never make it home today,
	God bless.

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