Aesop Rock - Fast Cars, Second Verse:
2:26 in
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 ****ing fanzines forget if they spit or swallow.
Too bad your inner sheep never forgets to follow,
'cause 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 '**** 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 mother****er 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.
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