nothing says charm like an armored car
taking the clone-farm 'tards to the arms bizarre,
we were the homemade marker makers born to pour the marsh ink
into right guard parts and march through the gauntlet of car alarms,
no harps, no delusions of losing with something prettier
than ash around the metacarpal still clutching the teddy bears,
we can run with scissors through the city fair
or situate the nuzzle with the subtle art of splitting hairs,
double park the shuttle, some will arc the funneled cutty sark
where budding narcs target the gushing heart in the muddy clarks,
these are the vices of the p-noid *******s who will chew whatever tablets blur the axioms fastest,
crews lose lunches by the hundreds, lose electricity, lose gas,
phone, plumbing, humming keep your mouth closed, keep your cows cloned, go, i am the pulse of this ^&*% town, homes, no.
my what a convenient embargo, at least i'll always know
which side of the gun i'm supposed to buy the farm from,
the too-far-gone kicks still in the box, fix still in the pill in his sock ,chilling, gill in the slop,
and a million watch gideon scribes, but once the arc honor ^*&^ and bribes,
the animals will divide and that's a win for the garish who keep charity in the parish
while profiting off the lack of a marriage amongst the classes.
Long lyrics, but too beautifully worded not to post them all. This is 1/3 of the song.....