to live like an animal, and eat like an animal.
where all ideas are inherited:
no soul, just a vessel for the environment, so i'm half gentrification.
the buzzing going on in my head, life in an electrical field,
where they pretend as individuals. trained as individuals,
watered as trees to be offset against the dwindling forestside.
i myself the consumer, all that is me, part of someone else's joke.
so keep the laughter current, we haven't a mating season.
love the bloated hormone, i float along side the beach
and can't drink myself out of this body.
all this building up, and i'm gonna get a broken leg
and they're gonna put me to sleep,
and in the end i can finally have sweet dreams.
the way beauty kills, you'd think everyone is here to save you.
a vacation from what? being a mammal is awkward, too many hard feelings.
drunk in a deathbed, a heart of a lion.
we're all children of atom, waiting for the big letdown.
all f****** winners, and food for the roaches.
if there's time to sing, there's time not to sing.
eat all the birds you can, and all the birds you can't...
'cause all the good fights been lost and all the bad movies made victories.
for people still using words like luck should be shot in the back and have their pictures taken.
i float on the side of the beach at all times.
lemmings don't fall off, they fly like soldiers.
the old marketing still dictates the current,
at the universe university where pain is institution
and bright ideas make martyrs out of monkeys.
we fly to where it's still safe to run with scissors.
this song isn't like me, it's just like my father.
and all this building up and i'm gonna get a broken leg,
and i'm not the first to call the financial district a third world country.
from larvae to lava and the glue on smiles don't get any stiffer.
and if this is an adult, and kids pick on fat kids like it's a cichlid world
and eating young ones was still legal.
you'd quit your jobs and only have babies,
build blocks like hives like greed's a white man's disease.
now the devil's got a god complex 'till they put me in a retirment complex,
with my head on a picket fence.
on a dollar bill on a saturday night curled in a corner with an urge in my abdomen.
then the phone rings and last night's dreams...
i forget the voice on the other end...
buzzes and buzzes, and all i hear is a pulseless planet
and a pity for those who try to save it.
some axel in the hamster wheel nirvana.
simply stuck in the god gut with all the pepperidge farm fish i could possibly eat,
in the m************ comfort zone.
whether they call you a genius or insult your intelligence,
dig you down a flight of stairs; what's the diff?
always tired or sleeping too often,
whoever made into a jealousy trap should be thrown in a coffin,
and dragged through some cornfields and stabbed by a loved one.
waking up with deflated tires under the eyes and not a single fitting facial expression.
something about conviction and expression.
handicapped people set in their ways...
a petri dish on a tortured fence.
judging in place like running on empty,
with nothing to say except "awesome."
"sorry we didn't wake up at 11."
i've been good, but that don't mean i'm going to heaven.
i'm a good rapper with a bad attitude.
in fact if this was baseball i'd throw the bat at you.
in fact i'd take my gat and throw that at you.
in fact i'd take this whole record and throw that at you.
you can have my songs: f*** these poems, f*** the s*** i tried to say in my last song.
didn't change a thing, the world's still f***** up.
i'm still poor, and girls are still getting knocked up.
still getting punched for s*** i said in my last life...
it wasn't me...it was vanilla ice.
i ain't slept since "god" made mics...
i ain't slept since "god" gave me the mic...
where all ideas are inherited:
no soul, just a vessel for the environment, so i'm half gentrification.
the buzzing going on in my head, life in an electrical field,
where they pretend as individuals. trained as individuals,
watered as trees to be offset against the dwindling forestside.
i myself the consumer, all that is me, part of someone else's joke.
so keep the laughter current, we haven't a mating season.
love the bloated hormone, i float along side the beach
and can't drink myself out of this body.
all this building up, and i'm gonna get a broken leg
and they're gonna put me to sleep,
and in the end i can finally have sweet dreams.
the way beauty kills, you'd think everyone is here to save you.
a vacation from what? being a mammal is awkward, too many hard feelings.
drunk in a deathbed, a heart of a lion.
we're all children of atom, waiting for the big letdown.
all f****** winners, and food for the roaches.
if there's time to sing, there's time not to sing.
eat all the birds you can, and all the birds you can't...
'cause all the good fights been lost and all the bad movies made victories.
for people still using words like luck should be shot in the back and have their pictures taken.
i float on the side of the beach at all times.
lemmings don't fall off, they fly like soldiers.
the old marketing still dictates the current,
at the universe university where pain is institution
and bright ideas make martyrs out of monkeys.
we fly to where it's still safe to run with scissors.
this song isn't like me, it's just like my father.
and all this building up and i'm gonna get a broken leg,
and i'm not the first to call the financial district a third world country.
from larvae to lava and the glue on smiles don't get any stiffer.
and if this is an adult, and kids pick on fat kids like it's a cichlid world
and eating young ones was still legal.
you'd quit your jobs and only have babies,
build blocks like hives like greed's a white man's disease.
now the devil's got a god complex 'till they put me in a retirment complex,
with my head on a picket fence.
on a dollar bill on a saturday night curled in a corner with an urge in my abdomen.
then the phone rings and last night's dreams...
i forget the voice on the other end...
buzzes and buzzes, and all i hear is a pulseless planet
and a pity for those who try to save it.
some axel in the hamster wheel nirvana.
simply stuck in the god gut with all the pepperidge farm fish i could possibly eat,
in the m************ comfort zone.
whether they call you a genius or insult your intelligence,
dig you down a flight of stairs; what's the diff?
always tired or sleeping too often,
whoever made into a jealousy trap should be thrown in a coffin,
and dragged through some cornfields and stabbed by a loved one.
waking up with deflated tires under the eyes and not a single fitting facial expression.
something about conviction and expression.
handicapped people set in their ways...
a petri dish on a tortured fence.
judging in place like running on empty,
with nothing to say except "awesome."
"sorry we didn't wake up at 11."
i've been good, but that don't mean i'm going to heaven.
i'm a good rapper with a bad attitude.
in fact if this was baseball i'd throw the bat at you.
in fact i'd take my gat and throw that at you.
in fact i'd take this whole record and throw that at you.
you can have my songs: f*** these poems, f*** the s*** i tried to say in my last song.
didn't change a thing, the world's still f***** up.
i'm still poor, and girls are still getting knocked up.
still getting punched for s*** i said in my last life...
it wasn't me...it was vanilla ice.
i ain't slept since "god" made mics...
i ain't slept since "god" gave me the mic...