Hey there pretty flower, growin' out of the wall:
I doubt the root system in there is the best for your health;
there are lots of awesome gardeners who'd help you grow tall.
There ain't no reason to take on the seasons all by yourself!
V1:
Patty-cake/ Crack cookie/ Chicken for dinner/
For dessert deserves a cake of light (forget what is in it)//
Maybe when a baby dies, so does the sinner/
And in a pinch, I can edge a lady, make her forget it////
This is the mezzanine (meant for the Sultan)! Bitches can't expect me to bet against the occult and/// I guess I remember when better methamphetamine was invented/ Now I mended the hole left by the weatherman in the cold//// I'm the best/ so you gotta forgive me/ Groupie starfucker bitches only just pretend to get me ("you're the shit, Steve!")// I wanna stay humble but, um I gotta admit, there ain't a lotta shottas with a "repertoidda" like this/////
I know my flows are sterling/ but my vocal cords are early/ And I need to meet with Merlin 'fore I lay me to bed//
If you think magick's only fiction/ like the narrative within this/ album/
Calumet Kubrick sin-- wanna know what he said??
Hey there, grieving flower, growing out of the wall:
I see the the root system beneath thee is depleting your health//
There are lots of "coffin operators" bearing the pall/
Your pedals settle like they're sequins even heathens can sell (helll yeah)
V2: Jimmy-crack-cornball/ load all the gravel on to the flatbed Hemmie/
Get the hell outta Babylon// Meat-mallow/ beef tallow/ camels to Camelot
Niche-Prada/ michelada / sea of the annual on a////leap year!/ Skip to my Luger/ Layin' down a deep dick/ itchin' for a cougar// So sick of bobcats/ Litany of infinite attempts to get it in/ Animal contact/ Channel' my inner tomcat//// (Meow.)/ How the fuck now, brown cow? Can you answer me that? How the loud "sound-out" down? When you clowns [are] outta town, and the roundabout frowns/ This gimmick is repetetive but lesser men would drown////
IF "Suicide is Painless"/ like the theme from M*A*S*H* is claiming/ how come folks have got these faces as if none of it's fun?//Well I called some friends who made it/ hella long-distance from beyond the grave/ and they said, "Burns, the lesson we learned is when you die you should cum@" (yeah; both at the same time!)////
Hey there little minnow/ swimmin' round in the pond:/ I bet the fish food within your system's bad for this spell!//There are lots of hot and bothered mollusks gettin' it on!/ So you're a fish and she's a lobster/ bet you can't even tell! (The "fish" is hot, right??)////
V3:
Little Jach Horner jacked off in the corner/ with a robotic vagina tryna create something more//He's been tryna get laid/ but lately God made it a chore/ His only mate's gone out the door and all that remains is whores//// There's a twist here-- betcha didn't find it: Burns is the kid in the last nursery rhyme (shit!)//Maybe, but that ain't the only thing in the song I'm out to convey/Bout' to tell you the end (and shout-out to Anton Lavey!)//// Man I maintain the mainframe/ make with the maintenance/ The mainstream makes many mistakes--take Satanists:// Their creed and code isn't devouring loads of babies, it's this:/ The Devil is fake; the rest is what you make of it////
I know the ignorant who read this/ might think Steven's in touch with demons (just one)/ It's just I know my weaknesses/ which takes gonga balls// Tryin' something odd so listen/ best believe I got God's permission/ esoterica/ where's the hint? uh, There!/ It's "Who you gonna call?" (Think of me as Bill Murray)////
Hey there, little specte, haunting all that I love:/
I know the food and booze you consume cause the illness to spread//
There are lots of lesser gods helping retard your "recove"/
You can heal, though/ Just get real, bro
Hear my voice in your head////
