Yeah, no, I understand what you're saying, but... is it sexier than torture? (Shah, yeah, Los Angles) (Under the cellulite laden thigh of the night) (Yeah, oh shoot, lemme see if I can finish this) (Okay, lets go, yeah) (We can make this better) (We can make this better) (We can make this better)
Under the cellulite laden thigh of the night I slip miniature mantras between my cries and gripes Jewel-flavored crystals in the red, blue, and white stripes While crowds throw numbers at me like The Price is Right And downtime is never met with an overjoyed grin 'Cause sleep and death have always been conjoined twins You'd rather lick the red gills of pop art Than your cement-filled pock marks The withering tendrils from my wrought heart Reach for a Benadryl like it was a lost ark 'Cause my average day is for the body of aegis, they're prompting these sieges We cry to these seniors, living inside of splotchy Adidas Serving consecutive sentences My corrective lenses is ruby quartz Yet my vision ain't worth a jiggling of booty warts Circumstances trap writers like Kathy Bates Under a decolorized happy face So my car ain't covered in candy paint But still the nanny state can't fix the diaper rash I'm pinging this on a cyber cast Questioning news items playing pattycake with Ira Glass The fact that this pony show's racist Stirs the colloquial cake mix and charges the homeostasis Of all the homies who await us like we some Smokin' Joe Fraziers But my unchecked whining's like some ceremonial plate shift
We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will We're just looking for something inside us to kill We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will We're just looking for something inside us to kill We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will We're just looking for something inside us to kill We can make this better
Before long, boil the bones A little celery chop A little pepper, a little milk of the poppy Little posse in effect Analog mono-poly Man'o'War Walloping the auto-poly avatar Mind on his Mallomars Money on the iron lung Clumsy with the can of worms Usher you behind the sun He shoots he whores, truly stupid troubadours and elders Stock the shelter with frijoles and blueberry New York Seltzers Roll up in a pa-diddle like a doofus Hit the corner like the devil is a cubist I'm ruthless, the sigil is dog with a cone, feeling foolish Seven hells calling all foreseeable futures Be it obtained culprit Crippling migraine and strange stomach Or a stray bullet through his gray mullet I am ivy up the god damn lattice March to the math rock Raw, no cartoon mascot The Mario pajama bottoms clumsily rappelling Under a gibbous moon Hunting for shitty food Gunning, too tough, embedded in bad magic Duckboy, shit is quacktastic
We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will We're just looking for something inside us to kill We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will We're just looking for something inside us to kill
I'm not done yet I'm not done yet I'm not done yet I'm not done yet
We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will We're just looking for something inside us to kill
Rap Marilyn Manson, about as hot as a Vanson With two hoodies on the beach with two bitches crump dancin' Rappers put your bets in, last man standin' Bars hit so hard you ricochet off the planet The motherfucking hybrid, tell Miley Cyrus text me When I holler to her private I'm tryna get them privates Parts, don't start, take heart like Kano Remember when I told to you niggas drink all the Dran-o Pop all the pills, take all the lines Chop through a window with some sawblade blinds Back on that shit, guess what this time? Half a stick of dynamite where the sun don't shine Any nigga disrespecting, chin check 'em 'til he's slinky-neck Blowing dope, eyes low and chinky like I'm Mannie Fresh Countdown to extinction, no nigga not Megadeath So many dead rappers, can't even take baby steps Walking over carcasses of artists in my garden Been nice with this shit since Nas was writin' past the margin Any nigga wanna start it, I fuckin' beg your pardon I'm with arson, I'm the firestarter; Prodigy invent the art Smack my bitch up in the mouth with my dick And it's not domestic violence 'cause she likes that shit There's no sentence to describe it, homie Except she sucked it like her fucking life depended on it
We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will We're just looking for something inside us to kill We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will We're just looking for something inside us to kill We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will We're just looking for something inside us to kill We can make this better, but we're not, yes we will We're just looking for something inside us to kill
Aes Rizzo ain't got that perfect hair Danny Brown ain't got that perfect hair Driver ain't got that perfect hair Jeremiah Jae ain't got that perfect hair
