These are the unregulated rabbit holes,
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Barrack homes and taverns built for devil's acre
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Opium enthusiasts and baritones, marigold -
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The garish allure of the burning barbary,
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Underbelly born of 40 thieves in whorish harmony,
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Hammering for the dark and heartless,
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Harpy, shark and harlot argue breathing room,
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Do not let the arson jeeper-creeper you,
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If we elect the scenic route see it as greener grasses,
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Like morphine after snatch help you forget diseases matter,
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Not to mention 15 cents for either weakens cheaper gamblers
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Down for hell inside a melting pot,
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No one's ever melting they just yell a lot,
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Stab each other, drink and eat and belly-flop,
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Murder Point, your thoroughfare at 12 o'clock
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Is hell and back, EMB to chinatown,
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Kearny clashing cutters out the netherworld,
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Sydney ducks to pistol fuck the centerfold,
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Every cellar iniquity, pretty killers and pistol petes,
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Might wake up with horses tearing at your limbs symmetrically.
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Chorus:
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Tomorrow morning when the wharf is finished warping,
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You will wash up on the shore and wonder what was so alluring.
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(El-P)
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Tomorrow evening when the leeches finish feeding,
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You'll regret the ownership of an aorta that is bleeding
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Before a later bay was calm, disreputable hangers on,
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Would rumble for the hungry like montgomery's little ghenghis khans,
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Who plain as day would operate in holes where no patrollers go,
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Groggeries that host the most ignoble dog and pony show,
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Francis of Assisi in his grave alone to roller-coast,
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His opus now a cove where all the lowest lows can grow and grow,
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With no sign of a holy ghost,
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More the polar: horns and rosy cloven toes,
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Bunny-hop claims, fold and overthrow,
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Gangland anchors hit the harbor down for hangman,
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Shuffle fifty two and slip the chew behind the fang-span,
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Greenhorn, he just wanna help his hammers harmonize,
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Stowed in hell's cargo by the spark in those wells fargo eyes,
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And famine wasn't featured in the pamphlet, neither were the cancers,
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Camp was smoking chimney, mantle, taxidermy antlers,
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Now the sourdough is lifted out the honeycombs of kitchens,
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Satan out on broadway and pacific blowing kisses.
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Chorus:
|
Tomorrow morning when the wharf is finished warping,
|
You will wash up on the shore and wonder what was so alluring.
|
(El-P)
|
Tomorrow evening when the leeches finish feeding,
|
You'll regret the ownership of an aorta that is bleeding
|
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40 winks, pissy at the grizzly, no lullaby,
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Clark's point trollops off the docks to flood and multiply,
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Until a brilliant golden mother-load in the bank,
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Hold up your drink,
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She said between her legs that other gold's pink,
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Sold it for cheap along the waterfront, wretched little clusters
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Push a fuss of smutty huffing plus some itching and discomfort
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Little wonder you, in public for the buck, it's rugged,
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Rusty cutter gut any cutty drunkard who want it
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Hellcat maggie, aggie, move to the music,
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She had learned to spoon pollution in a climate pruned for losing,
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Thousand more like her in the cow-yards moo-ing, ooo-wee,
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Beneath the brutal harvest moon and UV,
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Note it's the very same foundation on which you and yours sleep,
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Layers of players over debaucherous troubadour speak,
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They puff the pathogens and never let the humidors breath,
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That's why you grew up on stale tobacco and juniper trees,
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-----------------
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Tomorrow Morning
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| Aesop Rock |
