Wednesday, October 7, 2009

i scout like atticus finch

fast cars, who the hell is aes rock......i'm an artist, please don't laugh at me

Who's that walking with a hole in his head?
Bazooka Tooth, Gemini, I came to break bread.
What's a troop's recipe for treacherous times?
I tell 'em fast cars, danger, fire and knives, lets go
Fast cars, danger, fire and knives... 
I got her majesty Athena riding shotty wide-eyed

Its like never mind the bullocks.....Fuck
Like every other week these hipster tabloids jumping on and off my sex pistol's bullets. 
Like every other week he spins the bottle. 
Like every other week these fucking fanzines forget if they spit or swallow. 
Too bad your inner sheep never forgets to follow, 
cuz my inner greed to feed your hate for loving us is hostile. 
Fortunate for me it coincides with what comes natural, 
so the mongrels that I run with turn the fuck yous into fast food. 
Like a little freak sick of the 3 o'clock bully knuckle dust, nursing his last shiner, finds the shoebox in his mother's truck. 
Tomorrow's extra curricular punching bag 
will finger daddy's widow maker out a brown lunch bag (bang!). 
This is where the hunch back 
snake oil peddlers 
stuck under the burgundy sky of spaghetti westerns 
tend to bubble up. 
Weathermen huddle up. 
Today the son of one too many 'yes sir's kings his checkers, 
watch the double jump. 
Back with a platter of hot leeches that'll drink up-every bloody drop down to the last diseases, 
it's A-E-S-O-P-R-O-C-K, 
the peak twister. 
Defender of the son of Vaughn Bode's Cheech Wizard. 
I used to pray the treatments got easier with my aging 
like serotonin weekends was merely comedic hazing. 
Wrong, but along his travels located the key to world peace: 
“kill every motherfucker but me.” 
You cool with that? 
Cool. Bang. 
Cool. Hang. 
Uh... bang? 
Sorry, dog, rules are rules. 
And too long have I followed yours. I'm trying to get them years back, 
and walk through every cipher with dynamite in a beer hat.

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