Sod In The Seed

блог об indie, DIY, экспериментальной музыке [bad word]  [bad word] thespaces

[Intro] 
 His hooves in dirt pound 
 And eat up ground 
 He cannot remain bound 
 When the trumpets sound 

 [Verse 1] 
 Let's review some recent facts 
 I make decent cash, I'm a minor star 
 And we can't last if she don't drive a hybrid car 
 I scribble vapid raps on your flyer backs 
 The word is I purchased a refurbished Mac G4 
 Pull up to critical mass in a gas-guzzling Ford 
 Just to ask you when next your rock outfit performs 
 Before you tell me the fact, I'm down the road yelling back 
 Please post it on the Whole Foods bulletin board 
 I'd earn a lick of respect in slum art for sure 
 But I threw out my lumbar picking up checks 
 I'm so numb, Lord, yes, despite how I'm blessed 
 I'm destined to end up a slum lord depressed 
 Come by, poorly dressed, your address on the first 
 Hum something under my breath that half resembles some words 
 And like a bird in a suit cut for a brutish bear 
 Back out of there bowing like a Jew in prayer 

 [Hook] 
 I'll never shirk this first world curse 
 steady hurt and a sturdy purse 

 [Verse 2] 
 small dark bard, I'll give an inch to start 
 Then leave you home dreaming of the whole nine yards 
 Leave you home dreaming, believing that you'd seen me 
 Loose skin breathing like a cathedral at evening 
 Screaming like a demon in the Garden of Eden 
 Missing what parts that a stork in its beak brings 
 But even what an evil man thinks is really pink 
 And on his insides, doesn't mean you shouldn't pull his card out 
 So what if a man blinks in Morse code while he sings if he sings his heart out? 
 Everybody's gotta get paid 
 I'd say "far out, no way" 
 Frankly, I'd be amazed 
 But a patriot would save the day 
 Make the hitch, help C.I.
 What's bad, what's good 
 complicated man is misunderstood, even to himself 
 Acutely unaware what's in a shallow breath of air 
 And long exhale of something else 

 [Hook] 
 I'll never shirk this first world curse 
 steady hurt and a sturdy purse 

 [Verse 3] 
 Two sips, instant drip, Sanka mud 
 New corpus publicist, thanks ya bud 
 As hundred bucks worth of wordy blogger thugs 
 Come forth forthwith to four seasons aflood 
 To morbidly orbit your toilet like hornets abuzz 
 Forming above like buzzards in love 
 When you first wake up, spitting sick from the gut 
 And [bad word] black blood at six 
 Then you wonder why I'm high up, sitting, yup 
 The blundering braggart 
 From a covered wagon spitting under the vagrants in gutters 
 What, does it make me evil? 
 I a feeble deranged [bad word]  
 Cause Jesus would and I would not drive the needle exchange truck? 
 Well if I'm out of luck, I'm still pitching notes through this throat 
 [bad word] fears and hopes through the ears of folks listening 
 No matter what, batter up enough of this nonsense 
 You can gather up the contents of the catcher's cup and suck 

 [Verse 4] 
 You kneel and squint your eyes and cup your hands against the window 
 Just to see who rides, to get a glimpse inside the limo 
 Have some self-respect and exercise some tact 
 While I supply the info that you lack 
 One must pay the frat fee to enjoy the fat-free snacks 
 Strippers, roofies, and six-packs, and groupies with big [bad word] 
 Sending out mass texts asking who's next 
 To get his lance waxed in the wickedest  acts 
 Step back from the stretch, mack, and mind the gap 
 With all due respect sir, there's a limited cap 
 You'll need a ticket to kick it in the back 
 Of this rented, tinted-out black Cadillac 
 But I can tell by your polo slacks, Sebagos, and blank stare 
 You're good for the total package and game to be back there 
 But who am I to ju