Missilanious - Spinning Box lyrics

April 2nd, 2007. At the vault. Mountain goat. Progresso. Missilanious. Black umbrellas This is that braggadocious One flag, the whole sh** No hope, hope you croak I'm dumbest as goldfish Occult sh** Goat throat slit Sheets pocketed, fold hits Pyrex bowls lit, during road trips Mobile home rigs Harvard homeless, like Huxley, Ginsberg, Leary and rogue poets Toads licked Eyes closed and go sit in a cottage Garage and build worlds like Tolkein Technicolor coat glowing Coke frozen Can't phone in The new generation of posers gloat but were all molded Everything's been done though Backup came Sorry there is no next movement Just another fad, a phase Glitter and doom Sadder pain, that's my flag for fame I s**, but you're badder, don't badger flames My eyes got sleepless rings, far gone like Saturn's ring I probably think this song is about me, Jak is vain Damp cloth, another plan blast off Feet 1000 feet from asphalt, black flag molt Puffed once flicked the ash off Wall built like warders, with boarder control, like Ashcroft I'm the result of isolation and rap songs Desolate, seen the sun red Setting clips when the last of the red was lit He's dope, nah, bored already Attention span deficit Selling piff, clean record felon spit Wrote the will left in it was dead cop's gun cabinet: deer rifle, collection kit My ticket outta this earth vessel exited Exodus left any proof with Deck and clique Crib vaguely decorative Movement decretive Affectionate during s** with stiffs Left his clip Gypsy to the ghettos but still rep the sticks [Hook] Spinning head, terraformer clips I'm a god I'm Jak outside the box I can't believe you cats stand on line to cops Some of this garbage harvested lately shucked off at the vinyl crop I wrote these latest flows cuz I'm edgy Drop the tabs upon metropolitan entries Though the city lights look like alien with black colonies of a new century Like, where have they sent me? What have I done I'm an essentially inadequate loner who preys on young girls and depressed teens And my k**ing spree will not burn itself out in a frenzy But will go on at a steady pace, for over twenty years Before hip-hoppers can pick up on real And the feds can get me (this is real!) I'm so obvious nobody suspects me I used to rock crowds covered in sweat beads and wet peaks But now the audience is emcees It smells like period blood over fresh meat This mic feels all fleshy f** horrorcore's ??, what if my silhouette is Freddy or Jason with the machete I'm invisible Visual AUX author, LSD drop parasitic Water and minerals on your flesh stretch mine for residuals Suicide journals end yourself (I'm a dick, right?) I'm out, 2007 (reduced the hip-hop) Back to detox (yawns) Hate it. (That's good, man.)