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Yo, I touch with rusted clutch, then spun out of the dust |
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and careen into the temples of automated destruct |
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nanotech bugs in the blood get unplugged |
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fishing for the fly shit hybrid |
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I run among the mudskipper swarms through warnings and good morning Beiruits |
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Little Billy Blunderbuss looking for more recruits |
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city life is practice casket truancy |
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that's the rule of you and me, brash unmasked lunacy |
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friends used to laugh fast, grasped little truth from me |
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now they check their bags with a staff claspin' Uzis |
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who deserves the wrath without warning |
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the same sky for the martyr with a spork scorch New York forfeits |
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run among the poppy fields order some more clips |
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store trips are weird but the fear is forceless |
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Bloomey bought the city of Lego and shitty metal hull |
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jitters to the floor boards burnt almost aborted |
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flight of the accidental tourist, morbid |
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the advertising gods so oddly courtship |
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godly corporate squads plot these tortures |
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holiness is hard and it's costing god fortunes |
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(guess he took a second job on the force to afford it) |
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I don't want a part of these self fulfilled prophecies |
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man it's too much for my stubbornness, I hate the people runnin' shit |
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now if you sleep at ground o below, wishing you peaceful sleep |
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where horror on the surface emerges less frequently, |
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metal bars of ancient Rome dissolved from the scenery (now what the fuck) |
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I'll take a hostage and walk through the mosh pit |
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pristine untouched, NB703's untouched |
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trust is a commodity crushed by Pol Pottery |
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your cookie cutter laws contain flaws in philosophy |
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tumbling down a flight of Escher bach steps delight |
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cause the man who raped my sister wont sleep right tonight |
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now I suppose the pretty horses in fours could love more |
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but I'm exhausted by the scope of this dark god on opiates |
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breakfast for dystopian ruthless hope movements |
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seasonal and festive the butchery's lookin good |
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and now writers block is a prison camp where free press regress |
|
now you can hypnotize the herd |
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I'm alive with fly visions that attack like Alfred Hitchcock raising rabid carrier pigeons |
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true the only form of com not tapped is trapped strong |
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in the cranium of future rebel infants whistling the song |
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I know you're listening, get down with this bitch, whistle along. |
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|
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[Cage] |
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It's like the Bilderburgs came to dinner with filthy birds |
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they pussy all infected I'm lookin for milky words |
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they pulled my third eye out then they let it dry out |
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had to pour my belief in Chrst to find out |
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what I look like with no skin |
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who mandated while the back of my paper is still luminated |
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even your no flipped egyptian Euro |
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got my website shut down by the Bureau |
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Can't kick it with the dead until my life stop |
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but Bush got a ouija to talk to Adam Weishaupt |
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I breath artist time fans the artist |
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put a couple G's together before harvest light |
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I'll take all this |
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the hell I'm doin? |
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Dippin this whole fuckin' pound in enbalmin fluids |
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you think I rhyme to do it? if it's (?on point?)) shot is |
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If you can't help but sleep peel off your eyelids. |
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|
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[CamuTao] |
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It's the year 2010, you can say what you want |
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But I bet if you light this blunt, dummy, the feds'll come runnin' |
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Lock you up, lock you out, you ain't tryin' to listen |
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Cameras in your food, dude, look they're trying to listen |
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Lock you up, lock you out, we got bugs in the house |
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We're being monitored, they know we got thugs in the house |
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Don't light your blunt, bitch, they'll hit you with a switch |
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Hit you with a beam, hit you in the brain, make you go totally insane |
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Wild out, guns in the spot, flippin' on you niggas |
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They take you out, then the Feds push guns on the roof |
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They take 'em out, melt you out 'cause you know too much |
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After that you know your ho's get touched |
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Look, Then the meaning starts |
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Download your chip to a memory card |
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Give your chips and send 'em to a city job |
