Aesop Rock Fast Cars Lyrics:
Who's that walking with a hole in his head? Big
bad Bazooka Tooth, I came to break bread. What's a
troop's recipe for treacherous times? I tell
'em...... ah fuck it, yo

I pull the elephant tranq out of my neck, gaffle a
tank, count up the chips, wrastle the fangs off of
my fist, flood a little soldier blood over the
ogre acres on some holiday in Cambodia with moter
home appraisers. Pagans fade into the kodochrome
now, later with a lid to brow staple revist the
cobra loading zone. Molar foaming but he hold his
own wound cauterized by the Zippo he had stole
that afternoon. And my dog tags jingle by the
monster island heart he built. Grew up with a
Jughead crown tilt and tardy slip. Be all you can
be just never soothed us. You lost me in that part
about scrubbing piss with a toothbrush. Holler
scum's lullaby. Live from the ultra-fly sham city
bunker where the coldest cults multiply
alarmingly. Hush little baby, timeout. The black
market mockingbirds can not sing a lick but lean
to peck your eyes out of commission with love, out
a tradition of wraiths pick on the visions that
buzz, bet on the kitten's escape, solder the
piston to pump out a veteran amplifier. And
magnify through the same lens that set the ants on
fire. Flush the muppet hootenanny. Who could fancy
honor circuit when the circle's every duke is
clammy? Trooper, scoop the food in pantry. Ante
up, stupid. May delusion feed 'em foofi candy and
pry the gold out of his tooth when lamping. Pocket
all you can now. Block will lead the lambs down to
the cold cutlery outfit. Slaughter beef and cow
tip. Pour the chief some fountain soda, motor
prone to pen the holy opus and pry this monkey off
the scoliosis.

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Who's that walking with a hole in his head?
Bazooka Tooth, Gemini, I came to break bread.
What's a troop's recipe for treacherous times? I
tell 'em fast cars, danger, fire and knives, lets
go Fast cars, danger, fire and knives... I got her
majesty Athena riding shotty wide-eyed

Its like never mind the bullocks. Like every other
week these hipster tabloids jumping on and off my
sex pistol's bullets. Like every other week he
spins the bottle. Like every other week these
fucking fanzines forget if they spit or swallow.
Too bad your inner sheep never forgets to follow,
cuz my inner greed to feed your hate for loving us
is hostile. Fortunate for me it coincides with
what comes natural, so the mongrels that I run
with turn the 'fuck you's into fast food. Like a
little freak sick of the 3 o'clock bully knuckle
dust, nursing his last shiner, finds the shoebox
in his smother's truck. Tomorrow's extra
curricular punching bag will finger daddy's widow
maker out a brown lunch bag (bang!). This is where
the hunch back snake oil peddlers stuck under the
burgundy sky of spaghetti westerns tend to bubble
up. Weathermen huddle up. Today the son of one too
many 'yes sir's kings his checkers, watch the
double jump. Back with a platter of hot leeches
that'll drink up-every bloody drop down to the
last diseases, it's A-E-S-O-P-R-O-C-K, the peak
twister. Defender of the son of Vaughn Bode's
Cheech Wizard. I used to pray the treatments got
easier with my aging like serotonin weekends was
merely comedic hazing. Wrong, but along his
travels located the key to world peace: kill every
motherfucker but me. You cool with that? Cool.
Bang. You? Cool. Hang. You? No? Uh... bang? Cool.
Sorry, dog, rules are rules. And too long have I
followed yours. I'm trying to get them years back,
and walk through every cipher with dynamite in a
beer hat.

Who's that walking with a hole in his head?
Bazooka Tooth Krueger, I came to break bread.
What's a troop's recipe for treacherous times? I
tell 'em fast cars, danger, fire and knives. Fast
cars, danger, fire and knives... I got her majesty
Athena riding shotty wide-eyed
Lyrics: Fast Cars, Aesop Rock [end]