Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Smirk The Godblender, artist - Thought Industry. Album song Mods Carve the Pig - Assassins, Toads, and God's Flesh, in the genre Прогрессив-метал
Date of issue: 25.10.1993
Record label: Metal Blade Records
Song language: English
Smirk The Godblender |
Rot disease doc cowers sly. |
Bigot’s digest blacklist |
Trade. |
Homophobic? |
Barb’s pro-life? |
Fist happy |
Conservative. |
White gold home shopping cross. |
Vinyl |
Infant nailed Jesus style. |
Huddled ignorant cult of |
Chumps sobbing |
Himmler cops sip raisin rum. |
Christmas eve |
December bliss. |
Tossed balloons of santa paint splash |
Lovell and south rose. |
Watch grandma’s swastika |
Taunt dad’s foundation walls. |
She expressed ice nerve |
And speech, and they know I’m more left than right |
Burn the country clubs. |
Rich white man. |
Scared white |
Man. |
This is me, face turned wry. |
Snow |
Electric my passion punch. |
Sheep test the artichoke |
Kill liddy. |
Love Stanley III. |
Days of height and |
Milbrook house; |
and I wonder of April 16th? |
Wavy |
Gravy and Ram Das. |
And I’m reading the oracle, and |
I’m feeling more god than straight. |
Burned beneath the |
Lids. |
Hoffman’s here. |
Krassner’s there. |
Kids will play |
Load Jim’s .44 behind the ATM. |
Await Mercedes |
Benz. |
Sugar man behind the wheel. |
Shoving cocked |
Piece to his cheek. |
Have him pull his max in green |
George called it «War on Drugs», but I call it «War on |
Love.» |
War on all my friends. |
Leave us free to choose |
And be. |
This is me. |
Rubbed in shit. |
Old shoes. |
Huge |
Clue |
(II) Who Took My Holiday Inn Bible?) |
Protestants. |
Catholics. |
Jews. |
Islam. |
Baptists |
Lutherans. |
Mormons. |
Orthodoxy. |
Christian science |
Jehovah’s witness. |
Methodists. |
Episcopalians are |
Falling down |
Blend it, religions crime. |
Grind it, religion dies |
(III) I’d Rather Hide Than Be Dead, But I’d Rather Be Dead Than Dumb) |
Humpback slitting sicily. |
Exxon glaze. |
Ramming |
Japs. |
Blood gushing raw blowhole. |
Crone whale |
Lambasting death. |
Sand scraped and forcible shored |
Metaphor lays mucked and dies. |
I laugh, «I know what |
She’s doing. |
She’s choosing her final time. |
Hemingway |
Like grave. |
What is land is lost at sea.» |
This is me. |
Face |
Torn blind. |
Ribs cracked. |
Tongue lost |