|
keep hope a lie |
|
no more lies |
|
Have shown less man |
|
than that homeless man |
|
who roams this land |
|
'cos I've been known to slam? |
|
I pioneer in experiment like Dolly |
|
but try and clone this lamb |
|
you'll be blown to sand! |
|
It's not a hostage situation |
|
it's a loan, god-damn! |
|
I rock progressive styles |
|
like a stone(d)rock band |
|
you |
|
ve been caught off guard, man |
|
you need a soft start |
|
and an exceptionally tough card hand |
|
your hands are cuffed hard |
|
and you feel your wrists swelling up |
|
you know it's H-I-P, |
|
but you have trouble spelling HOP |
|
Boo! I do boo at taboos |
|
I'm not an out-of-control freight train |
|
I'm an in-control caboose |
|
Boo! |
|
you always said |
|
my devatating boo scares skins |
|
even if I may look like one |
|
who dares wins |
|
you seem a bit shook, my son |
|
I'd like to thank whoever took my gun |
|
the Natives say Paleface cook Bison |
|
I trust written word 'cos books lie none |
|
authors often do 'cos it looks like fun |
|
I - I promise to try and waste less money |
|
than that tasteless honey |
|
with the blue eye-shadow |
|
depending on who I'd battled |
|
maybe sound weaker or sound tougher |
|
allow me to recapitulate |
|
they never found Hoffa |
|
enough of bargaining |
|
verify the Spellbound offer |
|
it's time to make the Silver Crown suffer |
|
(...) you used to bomb in some red |
|
in order to make the brown rougher |
|
Santo Domingo Lingo su canto |
|
A-SAP! pronto! |
|
you be Tonto and I'll play Lone Ranger's part |
|
the Child in the Manger starts |
|
to think that the stranger part |
|
is this sudden change of heart |
|
I embellish this hellish pain |
|
tearing veins apart |
|
they say my tongue's a narrow arrow |
|
and my edgy brain's a dart |
|
pain's an artform |
|
and a Force to be reckoned with |
|
the glove wouldn't fit the First time |
|
now, it's time for a Second fit |