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Текст песни Aesop Rock - Fryerstarter слова

16 августа 2012 г. Просмотров: 799 RSS
A » Aesop Rock

Let me put you up on bob's donuts, controller of the warm deep-fryer that charmed cobras

Mostly it was aggravated ulcers of a goat's legs

Will they go for maple custard, buttermilk, or wolfsbane?

Late after your cinderella pulsate and crash I was rotating casts

Picture, if you will, a witching hour on a week-night in the trenches

Where paranoia dead-ends in a bright fluorescent heaven

With sprinkles...

I know, right? Yum!

Whether tummy-ache or fever keep the funnel cake

I'm honey-glaze in vitro in the company of similar believers

Sleepless

We hear the walls breathe and foam at the facial features

Now the yeast

A phoenix in the partially hydrogenated, equal parts flour,

Faith-healing might replace your previously nominated jesus

But only if you're privy the following secret of all secrets


I boil oil, too, not for scarfing

For cc's of japanese innovation that screech into free parking

Purple heart and second chin up beseeching to squeeze the carbs into the motherboard

You can chew the eucharist in cruller form

Locally, a seedy danish underworld is bustling,

Where jelly's not a celebrated stuffing, it's a puppet string

Pluck

Nose for canola, five cow stomachs like a mime with her rope going nowhere fast

Right hand of god on my shoulder,

Crow's feet swollen, dopey,

Combing apple fritters over

With folk of opposing cultures

Babysitter, cop, thief, reverend

Body glitter, botched c-section, bronze teeth

Each progressively more sequestered

Yet if threatened will defend the raisin bread as co-defendants

Some lose religion or view it as superstition

You can tell a friend if you where down to kill them


The fat boys are back, foam fingers over open arms

To feverishly reclaim their stomachs from golden jars

We stagger to the pulse of a gulch on the builder's dividends

Hiding high behind his guilty powdered sugar fingerprints

Seething eventide fever sidewalk feeling a little dicey

I'm snake eyes straight to the cake's icing

Might, fortune-teller up your favorite paper tiger stripe

Great, grace invaders

The first-name-basis patron haters

Who compromise the pilot light and flavors

Silent night, holy night, invite the pious of the pagan

Midnight, kitchen door uncaging the enablers

Like butchers in bloody aprons

Can I get a fucking amen?

Hazelnut raiders that are lost

Navigate consecutive pastries like stations of a cross

No day, no day job

Know the folk where it's virgin mary toast by the loaf

Thanks, bob!


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