Subtle - Midas Gutz lyrics

Another missing number in the jungle turned up with nothing but a loin cloth to protect your tender penis from what's danger and the wildlife Your human nose making the least of all scent Going dumb to the dynamics of clean air, bare feets cringing across the unkept forest floor Not ten minutes ago, you had been licking bra** knuckles and soaking up satelite feed beneath beating flash bulb blare, being crowned this year's champi'o'king Looking good bad after a beautiful thing Big winner of the only and annual Serious Serious Guts Competition (sponsored in part by the pain reliever people and the heads of music television) Yes, you and ten other tough guys slit smiles across your then perfectly sturdy stomachs, and spread your large intestines boldly out across a coated white poker table The starter pistol barked, and each contestant commenced to carefully comb their own eager entrails from behind the one-way wall of mirrored eyewear Everyone a hopeful breathing heavy sifting through their mortal coil with their finger tips, for the most intimidating lengths of well sculpted and primetime stomach links Every so often, in the name of health, an executioner capped usher struts about the gut covered table misting everyone's exposed and heaving organs with a modified and fancy water pistol In all the... all in the name of health As always, this years celebrity judges are only of the most incredible persuasion Charles Bronson's angry and gay only daughter, icecubed back from when he was hard and a framed 8x10 of Joe Namath's kneecaps And because you won, they stitched up your open abdomen first Gave you a nice rambo knife and some choice cigarettes And cut you loose in the ozarks The question being not if, but when, you will k** for your next meal And besides after all you'd never gone missing before (never gone missing before) (x4) Gone master. Drop the guts! (x3) In one months time, they anticipate your turning up in the lap of the Lincoln memorial wearing the stripped and cured flesh of yet another white rapper Lovers and mothers the last thing on your mind, raw and reborn in the k** As the red carpet goes wild The vice magazine people serving up a hard bucket of most happening blood feeding a spit roast pig in your honor, kissing the wind, calling you boss Phantom hearts clinking half empty in the leftover and once humored still... still arrogant air