Blockhead - Pigs lyrics

[Verse 1] Sharks in the dunk tank, vipers in the garden Locusts stole the groceries out the local Farmer's Market All God's critters hold positions Some are violent, some are victims Each alive is an equal and vital piston I support So when the piranhas honor New York My daddy long legs dangled and mangled for sport And while I bring in every dink in the kingdom with open wings It all boils down to them sh**-soaked pigs The pigs (what), the pigs (what), the dregs of what y'all aim for The gluttonous muddy stomachs under the pudgy cakehole Two-track braniac using the food and payroll To chew up and consume every cookie, crumb, and peso And place a cloven hoof on the lucrative when convenient As the bourbon-odor smokers' coughs smolder off the Cohiba If Noah had the benefit of hindsight on his ship He could've snatched two unicorns and left behind the motherf**ing... [Hook 1] Pigs! God damn... pigs! Potbelly... pigs! Punch-drunk... pigs! Take money, money... pigs! Loudmouth... pigs! Wide load... pigs! Let's make a deal... [Verse 2] When all the wolves in woolly wigs Have huffed, and puffed, and blew the bricks The skulls of Brooklyn's cruelest pigs Will rain on Fulton's newest kicks As mulish swine of all surrounding counties sniff the gruesomeness We pa** around the pineapples and pull the pins in unison I will gladly feed you to the breed who wants you sacrificed No pagan or sacrilege, just bacon for scavengers I will gladly seat you with the chickens, not the pa**engers Hopefully the crack in his armor spreads to his avarice Never that, Wilburs multiply quicker than triples And hunt their truffles in fistfuls, but it was all bells and whistles Bougie this and Bougie that... War pig or p**y cat... Glitzy to the pork ribs, had to gold-leaf the b**by traps Powder-pink, double-breasted, mess of mud and money Waddle off the fire to make his stubborn tummy wroggle And while I don't really know the working details of your tribes I know that that's one ugly f**ing tie a**hole... [Hook] [Verse 3] Apple in his mouth, Maraschino eyes Party like the butcher boy's cleaver is alive I mosey into sixteen hours of smoke in the misty winter To see the county fair's blue ribbon winner as dinner Then dance until the sun has kissed your blisters in the morning As the misery was dormant and digging in crispy portions Corporates want to lure him in and who*e him. Or does he who*e the corparates to expand the more important forums for him Push the mortar pestle past the ordinary orchard When the frilly border's faded is the product mine or yours, pig? Mine, plus I toss a token where I go: Directly to the worms who shovel sh** and yellow snow This little piggy went to the market with a target And will subsequently know the armor-piercing forks of farmers Final words for the finer birds taking notes: I dig a chick in pig tails, "That's all Folks!" [Hook]