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
