(Verse 1)
Nice little picture you painted
But it's missing the horn and tail motif that fits with them whimsical faces
Traces of blood in the teeth of my soul tied in place
Call it still life in the city that stole time and space
Burn your brushes brother, lick the pallet clean
Scrub the eyes to wipe away the splash of green
See I'll play the singular kid at your exhibition
Pissing blood on every canvas till they match my premonitions
f** an artist, a couple dark streaks decorate my inside
Read between the heartbeats, chew this, half each
I'll bleed the night dry
And wear his skin as a success story dragged across the sky
Got, last weeks mess on my mind
I took a minute to remember its fine
Cus I grab every millisecond by the neck and chew it whole
The past times of a decadent swine
(Hook)
Yeah clowns in the clockwork f**ing with my minutes
Get your hands off the gla** stop touching the exhibits
Sit out, sit sit out head-bu*t the hourgla** let that sh** spill out
Clowns in the clockwork f**ing with your minutes
Got the small town goons out gunning for your image
Swing out, swing swing out, drop-kick the hourgla** let that sh** spill out
(Verse 2)
Spilling laminated cakes on contaminated plates
More crumbs than you could cram in your evaporating face
Gone, an I ain't felt a drop of rain yet
Gone, still ain't felt a drop of rain yet
I tried not to comment your lack of facial features
As your offered your existence to your allocated jesus
Submerged in a mixture of submerged in a mixture of Tanqueray and spittle reminded me a little of a marinating fetus
Fire up the grill, cooked him eventually
Foraged in my stomach for a spare shred of empathy
Flung it to the pack of dogs drained of an identity
That s**le at the feet of any vacuous celebrity
My propensity for k**ing it is crazy
I ain't put a f**ing foot wrong lately
An I ain't gotta magnify my issues till they fill my field of vision
When these minuscule things still amaze me
(Hook)
Yeah clowns in the clockwork f**ing with my minutes
Get your hands off the gla** stop touching the exhibits
Sit out, sit sit out head-bu*t the hourgla** let that sh** spill out
Clowns in the clockwork f**ing with your minutes
Got them small town goons out gunning for your image
Swing out, swing swing out, drop-kick the hourgla** let that sh** spill out
(Verse 3)
Life, you give it little meaning
I been giving it that dimethyltryptameaning
Figures interweaving shooting shivers through your innards meaning
Daytrip in space get your face reconfigured meaning
I never like the smell of skin congealing
Out on tour getting lifted till I hit the ceiling
Need to neck half of this before I can begin the evening
Pigs'll need to seize the rig before I can consider leaving
Thats still the ethos, CP's the crew for real
Every leech splattered through my dark parts knew the deal
Come work a child shift as a human shield and find out how a standard issue warning in the future feels
So stand to the side
I'm surgically attached to the vibe
Neverending joy in a miraculous mind
Cus you ain't f**ing with the head-space
Its back to the grind
(Hook)
Yeah clowns in the clockwork f**ing with my minutes
Get your hands off the gla** stop touching the exhibits
Sit out, sit sit out head-bu*t the hourgla** let that sh** spill out
Clowns in the clockwork f**ing with your minutes
Got them small town goons out gunning for your image
Swing out, swing swing out, drop-kick the hourgla** let that sh** spill out