El-P Follow

I took this photograph soaking wet
After an 8-ball's cataract broke a jazz face threat
The same touch to the chest of a young musician
He wrote his own eulogy with cocaine hands

Heroin arms, Novocain undies
Long since dropped in the room for dead animals
Off of the dome, shit I'm off of the phone
Off of the couch, off track

I've been OTB with a stub and a heart murmur
A flask and a fanny pack, a bastard on any track
Come on Daddy needs a new Megatron
'Cause the die cast was metal and blasted his left arm

You should've viewed how it affected John
He's an erected brother, choose to burst loose from the black panther
Cannon balling from mattresses into puny little fragments
Gleaming white under the black light

Well, that's a random journal entry from scissor-hand nostalgia
Powers down to transfers to somewhat like the methodology
Of bare-knuckle compassion, a train wreck waiting to happen
Spelled out in refrigerator magnets G-R-O-W-N-A-S-S-M-A-N

Duckin' his own death threats, we stay fresh, what
You microscopic Sally Struthers with a lobster bib
Munchin' on white platelets, epiphanies lead battle soprano
Come back to dead friends, the hardest way to get sent

You motherfuckers don't have grit
You're all teenage poetry, martyrs without causes
Move onwards to the pin with this, test

I hope it sounded more confusing than that
'Cause my priority was found
Under the arm of an economy-sized mousetrap
I dedicate this to Matt Doo, thank you
My name is LP, 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

A bottle rocket, conflicted, I'll throw you a flaming wingnick
Looking for a hero's stars, looking for heart in the halls
I swear, that lust monkey sweat soaks my balls
And this is one step from a junkie living, breakin' in doors

My face low for thermonucleus games
Spill rain the open drain, who the fuck is down to steal me some pain
I'm feeling ancient with this shit on some capitalist order scripts
I'm lit, tryin' to draw this figure eight with a twig

As if the symmetry alone is the prescription to live
The rusty touch throughout the tongs are working, plummeting in
This is a far cry from the prevalential focus of things
Another rally 'round the family until the quota complete

My generation is beautiful, all the rep hold the bliss
Wet ears and adjust the mood until my final exit
Plus we torture on the traumas in exact moon script
Tuned Mass Damper, baby, yeah, that's the shit

I took this photograph soaking wet
After an 8-ball's cataract broke a jazz face threat
The same touch to the chest of a young musician