Thought Industry - Horsepowered lyrics

rate me

Halcyon prick absinthe loaded. Popes moselle in

Christ, slurping dead Jim's fat ass wife with shamrocks

and driftwood. I'm an articulate man, but the chanty

says to fuck. Scrape.

Sterilized aqua rectum. Chumly the Walrus.

Adventures bloop gumption's "if"? Catholics crust lust

my stomach, Jim's dumb tame moray. How many

times, Timmy? How many times, Jenny? Let's rinse

and rinse. Scrape.

Cheap man's lumbering hulk city bus will swoop me

off at nine. 'tards with lunch pails. Bums hacking snot.

Some fruit sniffing shampoo. A drunk bus driver. Kill

that bus driver. Kill the fucking bus driver. Scrape.

"Hey, here's part of my new book. A clever political

anthology. It's for the pretentious and cute. So I named

it 'America, will you please stick it in and ride?' Fly

dove. We fly."

Vacillate stance silver Zippo and cotton. My

varicolored weapons and wasps. I'm ok. I'm fine. Feel

swell. It's neat. Don't bump me. Bang bang delicious.

Go bang bang delicious in the bathroom at Crossroads

mall. Scrape.

I'm a fucking pop star. Non-threatening music.

Chipped meat hunk seen on Fox. Scrape. I'm a fucking

pop star. Budweiser sponsored. I've made it. Put it

there, chum. Scrape.

"I bought a song. Some sort of Neil Sedaka sample.

Hey, pay attention to me. It's so damn important. Well,

Fuck ya'. So stick it in and ride." Fly Bush. We fly and

ride. Free Quayle we fly.

Angie's lonely and stinking drunk, with morals like

frozen piss. She'll stick it in and ride. Fly Rush, we'll

fly and ride. Free horse we ride.