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Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #16,915
Peak in subgenre #10,504
Uploaded
August 01, 2006
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.5 MB • 128 kbps • 2:43
Lyrics
Time to write my plea and then stuff it in a bottle/Cast it out to sea only to become a fossil/Spit on by mongrels has its ways to benefit/Better grab that sharp object that's weaker than penmanship/I don't know if I can withstand another ball breaker/I've seen fools like me auctioned, praying for a taker/I never saw the logic, accepted no deal/Even those with good intentions in some way peddled evil/Beaten like harp seals, they yield to cold steel/Ever sell out alive says he's pragmatic and real/ Burning wheels, take me away to where the Joshua tree/Gathers in autonomy like dragons in Honah Lee/A million bucks won't buy Rosebud/What's done is done, it's too early to judge/If spilling blood to become number one is a crime/The dudes with tombs, they used to do it all the time
Launching a self-medicated sojourn/Is a total precious waste like King Midas' daughter/Cooller than an otter pop, leaping for an honor spot/It's go time to boldly fight evil like an Autobot/It's crazy, swimming through these mazes chasing/A leperchaun running to where the sun and rain are mating/Amazing, how gaining gound isn't so sound/The titans, one by one, seem to get gunned down/The dream to ascend the pyramid scheme/Turns a Puritan obscene like drunk prom queens/Goddamit, I hear the Boston strangler/Carries in his filthy palm a fucking wire made of razor/If there's no chance to ever meet your maker/Go nuts, and pound everclear with gin chasers/I say we all get down and hurl a prayer/But the tortoise and hare, they got war declared
Hey low life, gather up the limestone/brick by brick build to commemorate my skull and bones/I don't want to hear a peep from any filthy rebels/So I'm as primitive like I raised Bam-Bam and Pepples/Well, that's how our maker wanted things to play out/A man has a whip or he shuts his fucking mouth/Any questions? Build me a tomb to the sun/Where the graves of the fallen can be crushed under my thumb/So I'm materialistic, a bit cannibalisitc/Unrealistic, but hey, that's my business/Not yours, time for me to snore and catch a couple Z's/Mine for solid leads and you can live like me/Does that sound like paradise hanging by a string?/Well it should, cause it can be detached in a breeze/So swing that pickaxe, and sweat for my honor/Though your work, it'll soon be undone by graverobbers
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