From the recording Bungle 7"
Lyrics
{Verse 1} Disclaimer naming aim preceding why to not rely on what’s the main. I thought that that was the point of no refrain? The walk on limb—no, without an added grain. The salt’ll be sought noise, ‘cause if it was my choice, avoided explanated aid to causing no delay. Toothpastes’s purpose is preventing tooth decay. I didn’t have to read your warning label. I’d rather that the stupid, anew, fall off a bridge and die—is bridging out, the bridge is out, and “here’s your sign.” Define a nigh: try bolster, holster: trinket Tinker Bell, bedazzle flower power. My littlest pony in amorous glamorous sequins, on the gunmetal’s still evoking death. I need to know the side effects before injecting meth. This is “anti-just-what—” Oh, and yeah I said it. The defense in pretenses is pretentious when I read it. My thought is that the writer had no faith in my inferment, and why I’m forwarding your foreword back to you for your atonement. Phoning clone to make it known on phony phone: it’s Milton Bradley. Happy, packaging my dick for you was my misunderstanding. Bambi taxidermy fam; forensic braggadocio. Like packing-peanut infestation sheltering what was a…ghost. You can only imagine my excitement in the matter; governing eight steps to Decepticon indictment-ladder…and the latter: preface. Pre-faced was (as) if face was not enough. Tanzania: ripe with no front face. Diarrhea: no time to dilly dally. *Shart noise* Onomatopoeia: castrated, adumbrated quiescence. Pangaea: altercated space does not defend a continental mess. “This is ‘real talk’ up in the place.” Thanks for clarifying that, because I thought it was fake. Thanks for stipulating why each of your choices was made, ‘cause not me knowing otherwise, I still would say that you suck! {Hook} Don’t justify what you’ve created but (drop it like you own it and you just don’t care)! Stop making up excuses for the lacking of an effort but (drop it like you own it and you just don’t care)! I’m not saying to ignore your accountability but (drop it like you own it and you just don’t care)! Vulnerability’s a strength and not a weakness, so (drop it like you own it and you just don’t care)! {Verse 2} Brain, beware the mouth is often taking hold of both the reigns. The adolescent verse conversely working no refrain. The caught’ll be shot down: an ominous compound of some to vocalize what some’ll not—it doesn’t change. The world would be okay if we was Ichaboded Cranes. I’m finding it hard to differentiate a man from ape. Say, why is that we’re making up excuses for the sake of reinforcing what is not relating to or holding weight? Wait. Wait a nanosecond or a billion. May its self-placating purpose not be properly relayed in as follows: read before listening, sin before christening. I mean, as if an operated order made a difference in my opinion on upholding exponents remotely front. Please, excuse my dear Aunt Sally. She’s a cumbersome house guest, a rule to be reckoned with, demanding an arithmetic acetic. Boy, I hope you reckon. I’m an IBO alumnus. (Nobody’s listening). Here are all of my credentials. (Nobody’s listening). I’ve got commemorative buttons! (Nobody gives a fuck son)! Well, if this is an open mic night, then, you’ve probably never heard me. Salutations. For my first trick, and it’s an ordinary pen. Now, most professional magicians—aww, I fucked up again. Allow me the courtesy to spare you the anguish of any person trying to defend, why what they do is, good magic. Sandwiching my patience, stuck between a rock and a dumb face. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is synonymous to “word,” that’s what I responded. It’s something to say when I have nothing to say. The lone canvas, hided by the guise of both humility and paint: subjected to critique in every avenue and state. It’s fighting for acceptance in a land of artist statements where the artist talk’s a letdown and my reverence is mistaken. Faking facon: fake bacon portmanteau memento. You say tomato. I say I don’t care what you say. I think from now on y’all refer to me as R. Mutt. I don’t want people knowing that made what I made. Meet the band!? I shouldn’t have met the band… {Verse 3} Lame! I’m fucking sick and tired of the same game. It’s not a fucking game. Why is everything a game? Why’s that everybody’s always way too quick to slap insignia to shit that has no purpose in its meaning? You knaamsayin’? No? Feigned: what often is mistaken as the real thing. God, I really hope that what I’m doing isn’t seen as showboating, and I’m not deepthroating—nah—I’m not part-gloating on my consummate attention paid to practice what I proctor. Somebody call a doctor. I’m intubating heartburn by earning me a spot in the Hall of Fame of not-a-douchebag. *Douchebag* talking on and on and on and on and on and on about why you should hear him talk. Call it a fixated courteous phenomenon, an enema. Mechanical my listen to an ego self-depleting unknown. Cutthroat, faking my enthusiastic commerce; like “this is super fun,” said no one ever. I’d say there’s something wrong up in the motor cortex or is it still in Tyvek? Go get the scalpal, Cortez! Frock it. We’re going endoscopic. Brain surgery is funnest when I can’t tell it’s a brain anymore. I guess I’m insane in it, staring at my green thumb, hoping if I’m the culprit that the audience’ll play dumb. In any other situation, penalize the “cursed one.” My prologue’s at least proactive or is setting up the context. Mine’s best. (Mine too). Mein Kampf! Minute line form; there ain’t enough room here for the both of us. Battle me! I swear I’m dope in O.T.!—particle board, Formica coating. Determinability granted, banter, quadriplegic-Kobe health benefit. Preaching about an electronic stogie. (Do you want one)? No. I’m on that dro, putting you on the need-to-know like every other godforsaken artist, seeking attention, deified by lack of innocence. And if I hear another weed song, I swear I’ll stop smoking it. Tabernacle spackle, bait n’ tackle; I guess that this wacky tobackee’s just wack tobacco. (Damn, bro). Archetype a typical preamble dance: (Hasbro). Already good should hold it’s own merit when (solo). Such as in relationship confidence—thanks to my confidant. Hurley made the beat and helps me talk to girls up close and in person. I’m what I am/said & done. Growth is what occurs after you’ve overcome. Judge a book by its cover once you’ve opened it and read some. Album art’s a dendrite under nullified conditions. That’s why I don’t subscribe to your magazine subscriptions. It’s why I don’t subscribe to the beliefs of most religions. Think about the warning signs for not to feed the pigeons. Are you making matters worse or bracing your intentions? *I can’t stand when brothers do the introductions. What’s the basis? Jive-talk for protection? Check the method: your communication tactics are all fucked up. You knaamsayin’? Let it be. You’re buggin’ the heck out of me, giving your art love. Bad excuse makers save our self-esteem. What kind of impression are you making?*