I am the War Machine
Posted: May 20th, 2007, 10:27 pm
Evolution is coming like Vegas.
Run the Strip in ten flat; drink it under in ten more.
Ride the new disposable West packin' a frosty Colt 45.
Forty thou$and rooms of generic death and only six bullets.
Trade up to atom splittin', chain smokin', shockwavin',
steel strokin' smokin' dog, everyone's a smokin' gun
lit up Tarentino fart; cartoon ablaze.
I am the war machine, on the funk.
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world,
out in my bucolic backwood hippy triple threat.
But the new noble West is a bit jumpy on the range,
and dem barking head booze do ooze from the screen,
'cause the network penciled in a war if the weather holds.
Strap it on.
I am the war machine, on the one.
I creepeth among the strip mall underworld,
where recruiters uncrumple tables on cracked pavement,
and higher education calls like a million Scorcese mobster hits.
No more smokin' reefer on Hamburger Hill; that was then.
I am one badassed son of a bitch, vexed by my shadow.
I could escape the eternal parking lot, bring the noise.
I am the war machine, slight return.
'Tho I walk thru the valley of the shadow of hummers,
I shop and lift and hath dominion over my own sentence;
blood sacrifice on the altar of freedom's boardroom bondage.
I pay my protection money on time, right on time,
and my techno blowback will shake your horizon,
right down to your Stone Age boneyard.
Clever, the sainted vocabulary.
Clever, freedom's profitable slave trade.
Clever, the nobility that spreads from greed.
Clever, the light that spreads from darkness.
Clever, the will that spreads from coercion.
Clever, the truth that spreads from lies.
Clever, the machine.
Run the Strip in ten flat; drink it under in ten more.
Ride the new disposable West packin' a frosty Colt 45.
Forty thou$and rooms of generic death and only six bullets.
Trade up to atom splittin', chain smokin', shockwavin',
steel strokin' smokin' dog, everyone's a smokin' gun
lit up Tarentino fart; cartoon ablaze.
I am the war machine, on the funk.
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world,
out in my bucolic backwood hippy triple threat.
But the new noble West is a bit jumpy on the range,
and dem barking head booze do ooze from the screen,
'cause the network penciled in a war if the weather holds.
Strap it on.
I am the war machine, on the one.
I creepeth among the strip mall underworld,
where recruiters uncrumple tables on cracked pavement,
and higher education calls like a million Scorcese mobster hits.
No more smokin' reefer on Hamburger Hill; that was then.
I am one badassed son of a bitch, vexed by my shadow.
I could escape the eternal parking lot, bring the noise.
I am the war machine, slight return.
'Tho I walk thru the valley of the shadow of hummers,
I shop and lift and hath dominion over my own sentence;
blood sacrifice on the altar of freedom's boardroom bondage.
I pay my protection money on time, right on time,
and my techno blowback will shake your horizon,
right down to your Stone Age boneyard.
Clever, the sainted vocabulary.
Clever, freedom's profitable slave trade.
Clever, the nobility that spreads from greed.
Clever, the light that spreads from darkness.
Clever, the will that spreads from coercion.
Clever, the truth that spreads from lies.
Clever, the machine.