yeah now this is what I call living



Word, I want y'all to meet my man Onan,

he got a slick hand

with the ladies

and he is an ice-cold motherfucker

when it comes to chains

of molecules and shit and

Hail, no, I have no idea what I'm saying



I'm LSD in your waxed paper, Ma

I'm Charlie Tuna slithering up your inner thigh

I'm the raconteur of not giving a fuck

and my main assets

are alive and walkin the land

like fuckin' Baal,

just like that walkin' dude



Gnaw,

I'm an inflammatory motherfucker,

you have to recognize,

I'm fuckin' addled, man



they had me locked in a cage

handcuffed to the bars

and some big dude

in a sheriff's costume came in

and said if I wanted to act like Jesus Christ

then I better damn well prove it to the motherfucker in the orange jumpsuit

with the fuckin' mop bucket and broom handle



as my black brothers in the cell across the path

adjusted their huge hoods,

letting their spittle trail out

in mournful pendulum arcs

as it fell to the floor



I said to the world, you motherfuckers better turn off these cameras,

and I want only 3 things:

a six pack of Honey Brown

a pack of Winstons

and my lost girl to come back to love me



short of that

you better get me fuckin' Dan Rather

and a CBS news crew

and let me rectify my shit

now, before the bombs start to fall



but it was too late.

and it was my fuckin fault,

no one could stop it,

the hands of the clock

couldn't be wound back past

the twelfth hour I'd brought on



later they passed me a fish sandwich

through the cell bars, just a couple hours after I'd brought

the Apocalypse down,

and I couldn't even eat the fuckin' thing

because I was at that point strapped into a restraining chair

and the cop with the key

was fuckin' snoozing,



I could hear him snoring