radio, check check, video, check check
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this is how the city folk and mole people connect
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somebody warp the message right i'll pass it to the next
|
now the perferrated county's making you upset
|
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harvest all brand x clark kents to worm pool
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carbon heart
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burried his nozzle in fossil marker art
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pardon
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cadaver had a legitimate pulse
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and littered volts are with the village
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where the skiddish pigeons molt
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bastard poacher gasped
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with the pigeon with lazerus billy goat whiskers
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he rose to see salt in the open blisters but
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blind anarchy slips through the cracks,
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see naked martyrs with bubbliscious on fishing rods
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itching to pull it back
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with that organic invention incubated to hatch
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suome can try to make it fructose on paper now
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allow the details later and the crews will taper out
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of wooly mayors ousts?
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through piggy jammy happy shooting at the bladed mouth
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bazooka tooth zoo keep the paper route
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with janky funds and favors
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cradled by twelve empty Zelda heart containers
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man, it's freezing in this brick bitch
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winter forever
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like Puxatawny Phil found with his four furry limbs severed
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i walk face first through the sex, guns, and church
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with wild things that make maurice syndek question his early works
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but no hostages no promises
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out the claw of corporate cogs and sprockets,
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now clogs off gromits
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running from a rabid ring wraith click, basilisk, serpentine
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in and out of traffic jam and murder scenes
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scrub blood off the AF1 fifty two pick up first degree
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some toddler's smuggled tommy guns and crack into the nurseries
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dogg, there's a fucking baby at the door asking for wallets
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and those ain't twin beenie babies inside his pockets
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2010 sonograms show the magnum's worn directly out the fetus
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evolution for the young killer convenience
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radio, check check, video, check check
|
this is how the city folk and mole people connect
|
somebody warp the message right, i'll pass it to the next
|
now the perforated county's making you upset
|
magazine, check check, paper route, check check
|
this is how the hermetic and busy bee connect
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somebody's losing track of their flesh and blood in arrests
|
polka dotted landscapes what did you expect?
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now-a-days even the babies got guns
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diaper snipers having clock-tower fun
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misplace the bottle might catch a bad one
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have a mid-life crisis when you're ten years young
|
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hold up
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if the jesus piece around your neck is bigger than your pistol
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it makes homicide okey dokey and your god will forgive you
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just show the saints at heaven's gate you should be on the list
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i hear overlooks manslaughter for a tatooed crucifix
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twisty, fidgety, contradicting
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wild animal shit bleed off the slide of born doctor?
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to mister turnable mind bought?
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somewhere to laminate dry bones in cool water and ease madula
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after you thumb sucking diaper chains
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give birth and shoot the school up
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i duel, too, but only to exploit no brainers
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teenager beef past alligator teeth
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and extra-curricular flagpole scrappin'
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amongst tadpoles that have yellow backbones
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team mechanism brought airborn shrapnel scraps to hassle captain
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by the itchy index of an umbilically garped fraggle baby
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fragile, maybe, ya think
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chop shop and a misled maladjusty crusty lock box
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hiding clips that light the sky in seconds
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like dueling communal hopscotch gives them leverage
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cut 'em with mortars
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while i mumble in the immortal slang of "must-not [sleep]"
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for the anti-lead nirvana
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i used to think i'd get hit by a bus or something dumb and dumber
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now the bus is slugs plugged by the newest kiddie thug wonder
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suffered through kingsley
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rep a wide pride dosage
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for tomorrow the holsters are bound to outnumber the roaches
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not a coach, but that'll even jolt the immobile
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when global terrorism's all the rage your folk get smoked local
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block[head], if you need me, i had to bounce to d.c.
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to bullet-proof mom's flower garden
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before the war cheats me
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if i'm not back in a week tell the crew i said "peace, and lay low"
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strains don't vacate slow
|
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radio, check check, video, check check
|
this is how the city folk and mole people connect
|
somebody warp the message right, i'll pass it to the next
|
now the perforated county's making you upset
|
magazine, check check, news flash, check check
|
this is how the hermetic and busy bee connect
|
somebody's losing track of their flesh and blood in arrests
|
polka dotted landscapes what did you expect?
|
now-a-days even the babies got guns
|
diaper snipers having clock-tower fun
|
misplace the bottle might catch a bad one
|
have a mid-life crisis when you're ten years young
|
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it was a battleship gray sky
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the day i
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got the phone call Jam Master Jay died
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so, no, i'll probably never write another daylight
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because the stingers tend to cling more than a portable hay rides
|
it adds up when a pioneer fall
|
in comparison to your ninety-nine bottles of beer war
|
there's banana peels in your hamster wheels
|
hand cannons in your shoebox, please
|
mine's got adidas, rest in peace.............get at me.
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Babies With Guns
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| Aesop Rock |
