All of the high rollin' and the soft focused
Helps with the stock pillin' of your wooden self
Only in high rollin' and in soft focus
Do we ever ask "Is there not more than this?"
Holy Moses and holy cow
Leviticus roots are comin' out
It's the trench and c**t and the c**ture
It breeds, only serves to feed one side and crush the rest
Those that siphon the greed from the air that we breathe
To line fat pockets with the residue
We suffer in silent mothball fury
Trees that have long since shed their rings
As if to rub out the ballpoint memory
Of a thousand sins
Holy Moses and holy cow
Leviticus roots are comin' out
and my sinewed fingers throw them away
Erase their sin, erase their sin
All of the high rollin' and the soft focused
Helps with the stock pillin' of your wooden self
Only in high rollin' and in soft focus
Do we ever ask "Is there not more than this?"
It's the trench and c**t and the c**ture
It breeds, only serves to feed one side and crush the rest
Those that siphon the greed from the air that we breathe
To line fat pockets with the residue
We suffer in silent mothball fury
Trees that have long since shed their rings
As if to rub out the ballpoint memory
Of a thousand sins
Helps with the stock pillin' of your wooden self
Only in high rollin' and in soft focus
Do we ever ask "Is there not more than this?"
Holy Moses and holy cow
Leviticus roots are comin' out
It's the trench and c**t and the c**ture
It breeds, only serves to feed one side and crush the rest
Those that siphon the greed from the air that we breathe
To line fat pockets with the residue
We suffer in silent mothball fury
Trees that have long since shed their rings
As if to rub out the ballpoint memory
Of a thousand sins
Holy Moses and holy cow
Leviticus roots are comin' out
and my sinewed fingers throw them away
Erase their sin, erase their sin
All of the high rollin' and the soft focused
Helps with the stock pillin' of your wooden self
Only in high rollin' and in soft focus
Do we ever ask "Is there not more than this?"
It's the trench and c**t and the c**ture
It breeds, only serves to feed one side and crush the rest
Those that siphon the greed from the air that we breathe
To line fat pockets with the residue
We suffer in silent mothball fury
Trees that have long since shed their rings
As if to rub out the ballpoint memory
Of a thousand sins