| Force fed more than we’d eat in the wild
|
| Grazed on a mash that could suffocate a child
|
| Bloated, promoted in an ode to pomp and style
|
| Moistening in the feed while we choke upon the bile
|
| Cornering the market on the geese without the bones
|
| Hushing out the public in a strike without a drone
|
| The cage became collapsable
|
| Our sticks equipped with stones
|
| Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone
|
| Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone
|
| Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone
|
| Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone
|
| Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone
|
| Hello, motherfucker
|
| My lover
|
| You saw it coming
|
| Set aside the scruples in a stratagem of strain
|
| A smallpox-laden blanket, invisible with stains
|
| Inoculating bastards, bloody pecked pain
|
| Distemper has a hold, distemper has a hold
|
| We took the second sip from a cup we made of bones
|
| The first it was a ruse, a trick, so aptly thrown
|
| The truth is that our youth was a carpet laid in stones
|
| Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone
|
| Hello, motherfucker
|
| My lover
|
| You saw it coming
|
| Goodbye, motherfucker
|
| My lover
|
| You had it coming
|
| Get the mother fucker on the phone
|
| Get the mother fucker on the phone
|
| Get the mother fucker on the phone
|
| Get the mother fucker on the phone |