A static twitch and pull, they think they bought ya.
The warning in my skull, La Cucaracha.
Pretty plastic puppeteers, selling stupid souvenirs, do we have a volunteer?
Lay down, roll over, play dead.
Pass me the gasoline. I’ll wash the sin from my eyeballs clean.
Burn the witches on the tv screen, brewing spells in a caldron latrine.
“Come one, come all! If you’re thin, fat, short or tall, dinosaur or millennial.
Sick of feeling tired and tired of feeling sick?
Then we got the product that will fix you up quick.
Our miracle serum tastes like mayonnaise and piss,
But it will maximize your joy and extend your hefty happiness,
Forget about your dreams, your love and sensibility,
Then we’ll take your keys and your social security.”
There’s something wrong with this picture,
Look closer and you’ll find, there’s more to this than meets the eye.
Read the fine print and follow the clues,
There’s a million bodies buried underneath the home they sell you.
Lick your lips, does it taste like glycerol?
We work ourselves to death then they make us pay for the funeral.
There’s no fight left in our dying horse,
But they won’t stop swinging when our heart stops beating.
Turn off the frequency, your drama won’t set us free.
Cast all your spells on me, gossip banshee.
Throw down or throw it up.
Up yours, you’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face around here.
Don’t spit another word, keep that forked tongue tied inside your head.
Swallow your fear like narcotics, and panic becomes the new norm, darling.
The mad alpha dog needs to be put down before we all end up dead.
Turn off the frequency, your drama won’t set us free.
Cast all your spells on me, gossip banshee.
I can’t remember the last time there was a calm before the storm.
The human race is sprinting backwards, a three legged chase for the blind.
These violent delights will have a violent end, propagated by cowards.
Tick tock, stop the clock, target locked, grab the glock, walk the talk, safety off, take the shot, pop pop.
Pass me the gasoline. I’ll wash the sin from my eyeballs clean.
Burn the witches on the tv screen, brewing spells in a caldron latrine.