talking shit to the town—out of my mind,
the pressures of the real world get to me;
safe, here, in my lair—my parents defined
so what happens when my benefactor
merges with my spine? coming for me
the man that i was; but hold fire -
i paid for my sins; you have no idea
how loud his judgment was in my head
knock a bully round instead, determined
to make it to the show, undo His sin,
patriarch of men—giving me a push,
they say, loco, that you are a has-been
tickling the mountain with his moustache
balls of fucking steel, what is good is last.
all of this, friend, just paves his holy way
heading for the tree tops, outrun the past
never had to worry about money—except
i kind of do; no fault of my savior
everybody, including me, just overslept
the consequence, laws, be what i prefer
loco sister station, stamp out the comedian, feeling his wrath—contribute to the evil one, spineless crustacean to boot. so angry at so many people—didn’t realize heaven was so tight.
yeah—just me and my chosen people—no Republican in sight. passing off this holy chance to someone better than me—saving what they’re telling me—it’s the president I see. Ok, loco, Tonto, Kemosabe, all three: We’re going to the White House—reliving, then, his short term memory,
assassination be damned; Eisenhower power: don’t believe in it; the man be damned, too; murder Che Geuvera, capitalism takes a stand.
this degenerate state—apply free
speech to corporations, as if they live,
Neo take on the machine; blind as a
blackout; Hello, Mr, Schieffer, so give
me your best: I cannot help it, no good
comes out of me. Hate and vitriol, got
to stop it—method actor be disbarred,
what is for this? knocking mostly on wood,
feel it slip from my hand, not going to
make it that far; slow it down, Kemosabe—
that image won’t fly; got to find where you
are—send in the cavalry, then go to hell
his mouth is clamming up; pearl of wisdom,
force the squid, lassie, to keep its mouth shut.
Why the long face? Sweetheart looking so glum
she just fucked an Injun, no husband to gut,
she’s not a good person: this is bullshit;
stick it to his mama, rearrange his home,
when i recover—it’s on Him that I sit,
living under the cathedral, dome of hell
crazy woman in the bushes: so fuck
my country; stoop shoulder sitcom happens
to me - want to be loved by my enemy,
hate to admit it; sort of kind of stuck,
trying my best to make my woman sing
no need for a king, how about a Queen?
when will I get there? a washing machine
passes go—collects two hundred dollars
but, for what—do i really want to know?
Doesn’t matter if I do, doesn’t matter
if I don’t; allow Him to bloom and grow
Nazi tattoo under my armpit; that’s His
blood-type; spies on the gurney, i’ll be
damned; loco rhythm da-da-doom-da-
da-doom; Kemosabe on the drum kit—
reading His score, who wrote the music?
Let the serious shit begin; i don’t have time to play around; have some sympathy for me—my DNA—my fucking family; but let me tell you, honey, if we’re all going to die—who do we have room for? Who do we spy?
I hate the speaker of the house from the depths of my soul, didn’t know I could feel such things, after, that is, the medication took hold. Burn another bridge: stacked supreme court—Uncle Tom getting rich, corrupt as a hen, thinking like a chicken, butt-fucking again
now you know the man I know and love
he goes by Jesus; well he’s fucking the shit
out of me; not exactly pleasant, for
anybody. I just want to get inside, I call
out your name; you represent something
else; a hiccup to miss, a dying shame;
this is football, baby, the going gets rough,
you do what it takes—put Him in the frame
coming down like lava and ash, over my
head, blow up the town, be rewarded;
coming round, again, looking to the sky—
that’s where my cosmic ray lights up my life
coming from a place—far, far, fucking away
thinking of my woman, all I did today