Diseases Of Yore - Original Lyrics

Song	Diseases Of Yore - Original
Artist	MC Frontalot
Album	Final Boss
Download	Image LRC TXT

	Maybe you'll never die
	Maybe you're gonna live forever and ever and ever...
	You don’t meet a lot of people in emergency rooms
	who’ve got ANTHRACOSIS, CONSUMPTION
	or WOMB FEVER. June Cleaver never suffered.
	She had the penicillin, no expiration when she mothered
	her no-good little death-proof brats.
	Living little ones once were preciouser than that.
	Living anybody used to be a miracle, yo.
	You’d get et by the festering hysterical flow
	of madnesses and bad diseases of mole,
	lung, eye, and humor, spirit and soul.
	All these afflictions engender aversions:
	I catch GREEN SICKNESS to match with the virgins;
	SCROFULA coughs that I cast askance;
	ever since BLACK SCURVY, I can’t wear pants.
	And I can’t but dance with glee that it’s not then now.
	“I bet you got the TARANTISM.” – and how!
	Maybe you’ll never die,
	maybe you’re going to live forever
	and never have anything wrong with you,
	and until you do,
	you won’t worry about it.
	‘Cause you’re probably fine;
	maybe you should pretend to forget to remember
	the bullet that’s meant for you,
	until it’s overdue,
	and it runs you through.
	I got GALLOPING DROPSY and CHEESE WASHER’S LUNG.
	Leaves me with ASTHENIA, THE CROUP, and a dung heap
	of unbearably fetid excreta, from which I get re-infected.
	Nice to meetcha—how about a hug? I swear my ICHOR is down
	and I got over the PESTILENCE. It was intense. I astound
	the historians. I’m PICARDY SWEATY.
	Just ran out of leeches (that I need) (such as for bloodletting).
	It’s upsetting! There, I’m upset!
	Dose of FRENCH DISTEMPER throbbing up in my head!
	I don’t go into BILIOUS FLUX just yet, but about to
	give out a shout to the CHOLERA. Doubt you
	could follow a charting of the manifold ways I’m ill:
	ILIAC PASSION, SPELTER’S CHILL,
	WEAVER’S BOTTOM, and a MELANCHOLY ACHE.
	If my fever doesn’t break, raise a glass at the wake.
	Yea verily, shouldn’t ought to put in the belly
	AGUE CAKE with the COLLOID JELLY.
	Now you come telling me check in the mind,
	that all of these infirmities combined define a
	time-traveling hypochondria epidemic (one I suffer under).
	But on the other side of the globe from affluence,
	THE DEATH is still thriving. Thus, contract thence.

	Maybe you' ll never die
	Maybe you' re gonna live forever and ever and ever...
	You don' t meet a lot of people in emergency rooms
	who' ve got ANTHRACOSIS, CONSUMPTION
	or WOMB FEVER. June Cleaver never suffered.
	She had the penicillin, no expiration when she mothered
	her nogood little deathproof brats.
	Living little ones once were preciouser than that.
	Living anybody used to be a miracle, yo.
	You' d get et by the festering hysterical flow
	of madnesses and bad diseases of mole,
	lung, eye, and humor, spirit and soul.
	All these afflictions engender aversions:
	I catch GREEN SICKNESS to match with the virgins
	SCROFULA coughs that I cast askance
	ever since BLACK SCURVY, I can' t wear pants.
	And I can' t but dance with glee that it' s not then now.
	" I bet you got the TARANTISM." and how!
	Maybe you' ll never die,
	maybe you' re going to live forever
	and never have anything wrong with you,
	and until you do,
	you won' t worry about it.
	' Cause you' re probably fine
	maybe you should pretend to forget to remember
	the bullet that' s meant for you,
	until it' s overdue,
	and it runs you through.
	I got GALLOPING DROPSY and CHEESE WASHER' S LUNG.
	Leaves me with ASTHENIA, THE CROUP, and a dung heap
	of unbearably fetid excreta, from which I get reinfected.
	Nice to meetcha how about a hug? I swear my ICHOR is down
	and I got over the PESTILENCE. It was intense. I astound
	the historians. I' m PICARDY SWEATY.
	Just ran out of leeches that I need such as for bloodletting.
	It' s upsetting! There, I' m upset!
	Dose of FRENCH DISTEMPER throbbing up in my head!
	I don' t go into BILIOUS FLUX just yet, but about to
	give out a shout to the CHOLERA. Doubt you
	could follow a charting of the manifold ways I' m ill:
	ILIAC PASSION, SPELTER' S CHILL,
	WEAVER' S BOTTOM, and a MELANCHOLY ACHE.
	If my fever doesn' t break, raise a glass at the wake.
	Yea verily, shouldn' t ought to put in the belly
	AGUE CAKE with the COLLOID JELLY.
	Now you come telling me check in the mind,
	that all of these infirmities combined define a
	timetraveling hypochondria epidemic one I suffer under.
	But on the other side of the globe from affluence,
	THE DEATH is still thriving. Thus, contract thence.

	Maybe you' ll never die
	Maybe you' re gonna live forever and ever and ever...
	You don' t meet a lot of people in emergency rooms
	who' ve got ANTHRACOSIS, CONSUMPTION
	or WOMB FEVER. June Cleaver never suffered.
	She had the penicillin, no expiration when she mothered
	her nogood little deathproof brats.
	Living little ones once were preciouser than that.
	Living anybody used to be a miracle, yo.
	You' d get et by the festering hysterical flow
	of madnesses and bad diseases of mole,
	lung, eye, and humor, spirit and soul.
	All these afflictions engender aversions:
	I catch GREEN SICKNESS to match with the virgins
	SCROFULA coughs that I cast askance
	ever since BLACK SCURVY, I can' t wear pants.
	And I can' t but dance with glee that it' s not then now.
	" I bet you got the TARANTISM." and how!
	Maybe you' ll never die,
	maybe you' re going to live forever
	and never have anything wrong with you,
	and until you do,
	you won' t worry about it.
	' Cause you' re probably fine
	maybe you should pretend to forget to remember
	the bullet that' s meant for you,
	until it' s overdue,
	and it runs you through.
	I got GALLOPING DROPSY and CHEESE WASHER' S LUNG.
	Leaves me with ASTHENIA, THE CROUP, and a dung heap
	of unbearably fetid excreta, from which I get reinfected.
	Nice to meetcha how about a hug? I swear my ICHOR is down
	and I got over the PESTILENCE. It was intense. I astound
	the historians. I' m PICARDY SWEATY.
	Just ran out of leeches that I need such as for bloodletting.
	It' s upsetting! There, I' m upset!
	Dose of FRENCH DISTEMPER throbbing up in my head!
	I don' t go into BILIOUS FLUX just yet, but about to
	give out a shout to the CHOLERA. Doubt you
	could follow a charting of the manifold ways I' m ill:
	ILIAC PASSION, SPELTER' S CHILL,
	WEAVER' S BOTTOM, and a MELANCHOLY ACHE.
	If my fever doesn' t break, raise a glass at the wake.
	Yea verily, shouldn' t ought to put in the belly
	AGUE CAKE with the COLLOID JELLY.
	Now you come telling me check in the mind,
	that all of these infirmities combined define a
	timetraveling hypochondria epidemic one I suffer under.
	But on the other side of the globe from affluence,
	THE DEATH is still thriving. Thus, contract thence.

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