Lyrics:
Drinking from a chalice, livin' in a palace
It’s a wonderland–Alice, hop a train to Dallas
My feet are getting calloused, I’m like Freud- I'm seeing phallus
Got a mother fixation, it’s the next generation
Cut communication with my brother named Nathan
He’s a confidant, i need a debutante, you boy’s out for a jaunt, like an idiot savant
I used to live in Vermont, with my socialist aunt
With my Subaru, bitch I was nonchalant
I got expressionist feel, just like Egon Schiele
playing the glockenspiel, with a Glock on my heels
You’re a boorish bloke, you’re an insensitive joke
You’ve got a jaunty gait, you can’t ameliorate
You’re cagot eared, your crew is weird
You’ve got a scraggly beard, your sheep aren’t sheared
I'm sippin' on absinthe, twistin’ like a Francis Bacon
My thoughts are fragmented, never quaint or forsaken
Got a leather-bound notebook where my dreams are mistaken
Writing oaths with a quill dipped in ink that's been shaken
I’m a baroque silhouette, in a room full of regrets
Like a Dali clock, watch me melt in your cassette
Got a need for speed, I’m weaving through the static
Chasing phantoms in the mirror, my reflection's erratic
I'm a mystic with a fix, I’m addicted to the mix
Of metaphysics, pickin' locks with a crucifix
I’m an art-deco figure, living large in a cellar
With a monocle, I analyze the mind of a seller
Cut through the chatter, you’re just part of the pattern
Like a semi-colon pause, I’m the syntax that matters
You’re a clown in the mirror, with your painted-on fear
My intentions unclear, but the vision is near
I got a chemical grin, I’m a virtual spin
Like Baudelaire, I’m lost in the fog of my skin
Chaste as paper, sober as water, harmless as a sacrificial lamb
Like a parboiled yam, I don’t know who I am
Down in Amsterdam, gonna kick out the jams
Don’t you know its a scam, you’re whole life is a jam
Get a haircut and get a real job
Clean your act up and don’t be a slob
Get it together like you’re big brother Bob
So shuffle your feet, to the trick of the beat
Take your place in the driver's seat
With your spectral fleet, readin' Keats
Well I'm reading Byron, didn’t die of TB
I’ll be the king of Greece, with my golden fleece
I’ll be named handsome serge, sell boats of opium
Whiskey that came from Twickenham
While you’re buying Sudafed, legally dead
With a penny in your pocket and a bullet in your head
uh

Blue Yodel No.69

This one is for all the haters (and dave matthews)

Klaüt Nein (Clout Nine)

I was flipping bricks for Mansa Musa before ya'll even became a type-1 civilization.

New tracks tagged #simpwave