Sharks in the dunk tank, vipers in the garden
|
locusts stole the groceries out the local farmers market
|
All God's critters hold positions
|
some are violent, some are victims
|
each alive is an equal and vital piston I support -
|
so when the piranhas honor New York
|
my daddy long legs dangled and mangled for sport
|
and while I bring in every dink in the kingdom with open wings
|
it all boils down to them shit soaked pigs.
|
|
The pigs, the pigs, the dregs of which I'll aim for -
|
the gluttonous muddy stomachs under the pudgy cakehole
|
two-track braniac usin' the food and payroll
|
to chew up and consume every cookie crumb and peso
|
and place a cloven hoof on the lucrative when convenient
|
as the bourbon odor smokers' cough smolder off the C.O.E.B.A.
|
If Noah had the benefit of hindsight on his ship
|
he coulda snatched two unicorns and left behind the motherfuckin' pigs
|
|
Goddamn pigs!
|
Pot belly pigs!
|
Punch drunk pigs!
|
Take money money pigs!
|
Loud mouth pigs!
|
Wide load pigs!
|
Let's make a deal...
|
|
When all the wolves in wooly wigs have huffed and puffed and blew the bricks
|
the skulls of Brooklyn's cruelest pigs will rain up Fulton's newest kicks
|
as mulish swine of all surrounding counties sniff the gruesomeness
|
we'll pass around the pineapples and pull the pins in unison.
|
I will gladly feed you to the breed who wants you sacrificed
|
No pagan or sacrilege ? just bacon for scavengers.
|
I will gladly seat you with the chickens not the passengers
|
Hopefully the crack in his armor spreads to his avarice.
|
|
|
Never that ? Wilburs multiply quicker than triples
|
And hunted truffles in fistfuls but it was all bells and whistles.
|
Bougie this and bougie that ? war pig or pussy cat
|
Glitzy to the porks ribs had to gold leaf the booby traps.
|
Powder pink, double-breasted mess of mud and money
|
Waddle to the fire to make his stubborn tummy roggle
|
I'm all "I don't really know the working details of your tribes
|
I know that that's one ugly fuckin tie,
|
asshole" pigs
|
|
Goddamn pigs!
|
Pot belly pigs!
|
Punch drunk pigs!
|
Take money money pigs!
|
Loud mouth pigs!
|
Wide load pigs!
|
Let's make a deal...
|
|
|
Apple in his mouth, maraschino eyes
|
Party like the butcher boy's cleaver is alive
|
I mosey into sixteen hours of smoke in the misty winter
|
to see the county fair's blue ribbon winner is dinner
|
then dance until the sun has kissed your blisters in the morning
|
as the misery was dormant indignant in crispy portions
|
Corporates fund alarm and they whore 'em
|
Or does he whore to corporates to expand the more important forums for 'em?
|
|
Push the mortar pestle past the ordinary orchard
|
when the frilly borders faded is the product mine or yours, pig?
|
Mine, plus I toss a token where I go ?
|
directly to the worms who shovel shit and yellow snow.
|
This little piggy went to the market with a target
|
and will subsequently know the armor piercing forks of farmers.
|
Final words for the finer birds taking notes:
|
I dig a chick in pigtails "that's all, folks!"
|
|
Goddamn pigs!
|
Pot belly pigs!
|
Punch drunk pigs!
|
Take money money pigs!
|
Loud mouth pigs!
|
Wide load pigs!
|
Let's make a deal...
|
|
-----------------
|
Pigs [Hidden Track]
|
Aesop Rock |