yr so funny, and at times dangerous.
you got no money, y'see yr just the same as us.
hey, where'd you go?
you hiding behind the curtain?
i can still see yr feet
or maybe those are just yr shoes
and yr standing right behind me.
i know yr tricky, i know yr tricky,
you like to trick me.
i think yr pretty, little piggy,
yeah you get me yeah you got me
yea you thought that you could top me
but i'm not some little hobby.
i'm the manhattan project,
yr my something atomic,
it's getting classic and caustic
and you cant catch it, can't stop it
and you unrattled me, cuz.
you had me grappling with facts because it had to add up.
who had that fascism fuss?
you know it had to be us.
what was happening was baffling, you haven't seen us?
bring yr tux
pick me up
as it wasnt getting sticky enough
they reporters say they smell a story
my cape billowing, my pillow dripping with sweat
all of my crevices wet
i'm in the satanic static,
call me the brat automatic,
among the recent jungle denizens,
all my habits are graphic
classic antics, tragic havok,
have it yr way
have it haphazard
buzzards fly backwards,
a scattered shattering pattern,
airtight, that's right,
there must be something to this
but i just hear excuses.
call me satan, i'll sell it.
i got it cheap, won't embellish,
this is the shook up shakedown
take down those posters
they don't want you no more