El-P - Tuned Ma** Damper (Instrumental) lyrics

I took this photograph soaking wet After an 8-ball cataract broken jazz ba** frett The same touch to the chest of a young musician He wrote his own eulogy with c**aine hands Heroin arms, Novocaine memories Lost since dropped into room from pink mammaries Off of the dome, sh** I'm off of the phone Off of the couch, off track Out at OTB with a stub and a heart murmur A flask in a fanny pack A ba*tard on any track (C'mon) Daddy needs a new Megatron Cause the die cast was metal and blasted his left arm You should've viewed how it affected John, cause He erected bubble truths that burst loose from a gla** bear hug Cannonballing from mattresses for kitty litter fragments Gleaming white under the black light Well that's a random journal entry from scissor-hand nostalgia Powers down to transfers To some elected methodology of bare-knuckle compa**ion A train wreck waiting to happen Spelled out with refrigerator magnets G-R-O-W-N-A-S-S-M-A-N, ducking his own d**h threats And stay fresh (What?) Microscopic Sally Struthers with a lobster bib Munching on white platelets Epiphanies leap out and surprise Off of a batch of dead friends, the hardest way to get zen You motherf**ers don't have grit You're all teenage poetry, martyrs without causes Alarmists and opinions (get taxed) Motherf**er, did I sound abstract? I hope it sounded more confusing than that Cause my clarity was found under the arm Of an economy sized mouse trap I dedicate this to Matt Doo (thank you) My name is El-P, I produce and I rap too You're not promised tomorrow You're not promised tomorrow You're not promised tomorrow You're not promised tomorrow You're not promised tomorrow You're not promised tomorrow You're not promised tomorrow You're not promised tomorrow Yo, yo I'm bottle rocket conflicted, all dirty with flame on wic nit Lookin for a hero in stores, looking for heart of gold who*es I swear the lust monkey sweat soaks in my pores And this is one step from a junky liver breaking in doors They playing global thermal nucleus games Lets rearrange the whole complaint Who the f** is down to steal me some paint? We could get ancient with this sh** On some cavernous wall Description, I'm lit Trying to draw this figure eight with a twig As if the symmetry alone is a prescription to live The rusty touch the rubble convert working plummeting MIG Cause its a dogfight for the privilege of hope as a fix And I'mma rally round the family till the quota conflicts My generation is beautiful coma, REM hold the bliss And the answer that just eluded you my friend don't exist Unless we torch our own entrapments and exact our own scripts Tuned ma** damper baby, yeah that's the sh**