Remington Iron - God Tongue (An Epistle on Taste) lyrics

Misty in the biscuit-tinted Fisker Miss me with that sh** that isn't glistening or whiskered Risky, what the business is Wrist is a chameleon Mister Mephistophelian, but feel a little crisper Ain't a myth in which I'm not a fixture Espada shifter, Trader Vic colada sipper Slip your sister a tawdry whisper.. You got the picture... Whipping something with the trunk in the front Slump gave me something skunky to accompany lunch With a Bunsen, I lit up Blunts in abundance, and hit up Huntsman in London to pick up a little something to stunt I got the tongue you can trust Most don't talk about it Guillotine a beat and bow it down, gouts fountain out it Dressed like Eddie Hayes; my machete blades never break Sprinkle game every day Yeah, I got the dried pheasant garnish Get up on my level, cop the bezel with the garnets Neck and wrist drip like Pen and Pixel sent a missile in My pen is listed in the Michelin Fifty on the ink I've written this epistle in Slick as glycerin up in the nib, I'm glistening Blistering Dismiss 'em with iridium Slip into the Chrysalis and dip