V1: My dreams are nightmare-scapes/ with tight ladies/ bare-naked masturbating in pink satin with hands in all the right places/ my face is/ a Jackson Pollock or Ralph Steadman original depiction/ fucking is love/ french kissing is digital//// A post-apocalyptic vision written in crimson skies/ A fire inside horizons drippin' with sinful pride/ an ocean tide overseen by a prince of lies/ and the queen of the demise of the American dream/ so when it dies//all that's left is me as an island/ clutching to the breast/ of my own imagination/ I imagine manifested as destiny/ dressed as a lady, in a Mercedes Benz/ made of paint/ drippin' with sex and fame/ this is where I went/ when I went insane/ when my head was empty/ left my brain/ all that's left is pain/ I attempt to piece together a frame/ of the memories remaining after meth-vapor staining my subconscious/ am I unconscious right now, or am I awake?//// Take a picture/ it'll last longer than my recollection/ of what happened/ all I'm left with is my hand on my erection// 10 seconds ago I was president of every ghost and demon/ that one was wet-- now my belly and leg are cemented with semen////

Hook: When I sleep, I don't count sheep, I count ferrets/ Screeching as they creep in pairs, or packs of six with kids and parents//

Keep it secret from the children, cuz' this sentiment will scare em':

If bad dreams are fast women, I have em' by the harem////

V2: Vaguely familiar faces/ in such unfamiliar places/castles made of blackface/ my hands laced with tracers and trails like I was trippin'/ riding giant snails/ candy-flippin'/ pale with inner vision from the Delsym I was sippin'//// Dark bathrooms/ terrified of my reflection in the mirror/ chanting Bloody Mary's name until she make me disappear again// and then when I appear again, I'm standin' in the desert on a cliff/ watchin' the clouds above burn like a spliff//// so I climb on to the smoke/ because this shit ain't real/ I just watched the first pioneer invent the wheel// on a candy-cane pinto--it's a pimpmobile/ my dreams are inchmeal/ every hand I play--misdeal//// Kama Sutra positions with women in my kindergarten cafeteria kitchen/ convinced of my commitment/ to a million different ambitions/ not a minute to spare/ Are you Medusa, bitch, or are there just snakes in your hair???////

HOOK

V3. I'm Brock Samson/ I'm Omar Little/ I'm Avon Barksdale on that gangsta shizzle// I'm Raylan Givens (only my hat is different) I ain't hard--but then again, you know my bones ain't brittle!//// If my dreams were a film, Ratatat would do the score/ Tarantino would direct, and I would write the script, of course// Harvey Weinstein would buy it/ or I'd sell it door-to-door/spend the cheddar on a sexy whip and California whores//// Black rain precipitation/ descendin' from Heaven/ on a hidden mission from God/ in every drop embedded// I'm Flapjack/ I'm Finn/ Adventure Time (I'm animated)/ A-list and first class/ and not just when I'm sedated//// The wind at my window like a banshee's moan/A branch tapping on the glass (I guess no one's home)// My eyes glare with a crazy kinda savoir faire/ So when I close em', yo, I count the dopest rodents I know!!////

HOOK