Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Klutz, artist - Aesop Rock. Date of issue: 17.05.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Klutz |
| Can’t motherfuck a motherfucker |
| From the underfunded Klutz who never undercut the butcher |
| The pick-a-booger-at-your-wake is bumping «I'm your pusher» |
| Also at your wake, Juvenile Intruders at the gate |
| Brooding over waking history that bubbles from the blinking 12s of VCRs and |
| Microwaves |
| Like time machines for shrinking elders, rifling through their recipe |
| Carrots, onions, celery, what unique amalgam of piss and repugnant energy |
| Spun him out of the 70s, to b-line for dessert? |
| Fire-eater trying to keep it on the green side of the dirt |
| This is tea-time with the worst, geriatrics on the decline of berserk |
| Back in my day we were three times more alert |
| Now I go through my old clothing trying to find nostalgic threads to sell |
| Walk away feeling like I should have never dressed myself |
| Sincerely I was never on the cutting edge, my hand was on the hilt |
| You’re free to build with the other end |
| Shriek into the vacuum if in spite of your accomplishments |
| You wake up feeling empty like Houdini’s grave probably is |
| Volley with the quintessential digital ager, I’m offended by everything |
| My opinions come in a manger, oh boy |
| Depreciating since they drove me off the lot, still into ghost stories and pot |
| and the classic coconut bra |
| Procedural crime drama shows with holes in the plot, and reminding clones |
| there’s more to coping than a nose full of snot |
| Ah, old pros throw 'bows to the 808, you couldn’t throw a rope over a baby gate |
| Bishop to queen 4 in damn Daniels under ram skulls |
| Plan for cloudy with a chance of anvils |
| Fever dreams of padded cells and jagged pills in frozen pipes |
| Socialites from pageant hell with plastic smiles and robot eyes |
| I’m hoping you all grow into the sentience you assume |
| As your moment of self-reflection is a moment for me too |
| Look, with the steel chair, sure to serve the veal rare, brush up your evasion |
| and basic tactical field care |
| I was on that constant futile rage before the internet |
| I been ignored for longer than you’ve been interested |
| The posse promise you nobody feels threatened by a scarecrow covered in crows |
| who feel welcomed |
| That’s like hellions thinking hell is just ok but needs some polish |
| It helps to know intimidation’s all about the optics |
| Come duck a bounty, it’s a hoot, Suffolk County it’s a zoo, puppy chow and |
| bitches brew |
| It’s not exactly chicken soup, it’s heavy-lifters lifting, it’s ginseng on his |
| whistling |
| It’s we don’t find the flippancy convincing, 2 for flinching, older yeller |
| Never knew a no-kill shelter in his doggie days |
| Now I draw my neighbors over Kouign-amanns and coffee stains |
| A walled and whirling urchin, more observant than audacious |
| I document the great unwashed and curse in Lithuanian |
| For a gallery of grifters channeling Sid’s action figures grafted with his |
| little sister’s after markers glue and scissors |
| It’s trippy, the truth and fiction moving to a center |
| Maybe it’s weirder they’ve never been photographed together |
| Sometimes the stomach disappears from under a retreating lens |
| And patterns of a need to please abusive folk reveal themselves |
| I’m peeling back the layers, I’m sneaking past the lasers |
| I’m a lover, I’m a fighter, I’m a seed to blackened acres |
| The dogs I think are following me home are out to kill me |
| Your music makes a motherfucker wanna move to Elm Street |
| Rejection of the spirit by the body at your service, if you mess-up every |
| friendship come get swept up in the current |
| Here, wheels fall off of cars when they see him, seas part, green trees march |
| out of Eden |
| I’m known to eat the heart and keep the archery uneven, are you starting to be |
| part of the kinesis? |
| Got me on some other shit |
| Got me on some other shit |
| Got me on some other shit |