the detective gets his best ideas in the bath with a blank book & an empty pen he cannot write texts in absence of second hand phone. scorned. frayed green give up record threads scattered on the bathroom floor the carpet composed mostly of cat hair moult. nah, i exaggerate; the bath is half full the pen half empty it's nib familiar with his fingernails' undersides maybe he's writing in resin or some other unidentified black dirt and the whole thing has run out and he hasn't even noticed. having only just thrown up the greasiest burger i think a certain fast food chain has yet to serve him. his puke & phlegm matted beard will be disappeared tomorrow. and you can feel the fresh skinhead of a velcro haired and ultimately blank canvassing identity crisis. and all the best lines never come out when i'm trying to write in rhymes as you can clearly see or well maybe you can't. i took my name from the wrong man. i should have been a parasite pinched between index fingers. writing round the drips like pitfalls in page. piss somewhere between honey nut loopesque cereal and the way cigarettes can only really taste on a decent pill which is all way behind me these days i'm afraid but still i can look back in nostalgia and occaisonly get long latent buzz up my spine like back of the head ritalin tickle reminding me of lice i would scratch at paranoid jumping out my whole skin every time another random battle begins. the family unit has now become a festering boil. it's not safe anymore giving you four walls to go mad in... nor a roof over your head. you'd be better off outside conforming to impress real people who will judge you without bias. i'd like to make some new friends but i'm too old, too tired too cold, too wired to make sense and i'm sick of dumbing myself down. we have nothing in common if you can't complete bubble bobble then you are not suitable girlfriend material in the slightest. and this chemical doesn't affect you anymore anyway. but lack of it would any make you worse. i'm no idiot savant, more your average idiot. using long words to look intelligent? yes. i never intended my ideas to be so easily communicated. i'd rather you dig deep but give up when you hit concrete i'm quite secretive in what i announce. the layers of meaninglessness collide & cancel each other out. there are red herrings buried between lines i shout: i'm dispensing beautifully crafted lies for my own amusement yes mine, not yours in one way it would be purer if i threw every recording away straight after making it and playing it to no-one but my recycle bin i care about the environment as much as i care about myself. in fact, more. looking in the mirror and seeing my old landlord's face instead of mine why? what's the hidden meaning? the best advice that anyone's ever given me is dreaming is not always profound. thank god for that or i'd be in a lot of trouble right now. i've made the worst first impression you can probably get and still you stick up for me when really i don't deserve it every time i make a prick of myself i never learn if it's the product of too many chemicals or not enough. i'd like to say that drugs have never been my scapegoat. but if i did say that, then you'd laugh in my face. and how exactly does one go about dying of exposure? i thought it was something only a celebrity would suffer from. should i stop being such a skinflint and actually turn my heating on when i haven't even got guests? is this a product of brainfreeze, malignant at best? should i pull down my bobble hat, muffle out mr.bungle & negate the whole point of enjoying a new soundcard? have i really the heart to tell people what i really think? something's rotten there's a stink that wafts out like an aura from my pores like water vapour in the form of evaporated sweat this headcold i think i caught off ben is doing strange things to my pen. why not be that contrite & make everything rhyme? hah, like real life's that neat. and you know this would be a nice city if our council actually cared. no listen - this has to stop now. you can't carry on like this. your money your life and your meaningless trinkets this is not all i have to say. write NO on the back of your hand every day until it becomes as familiar as that obvious cliche i'm not going to mention here for the oblivious. this is a private message to myself, as much as you. there is too much exposition here. as the description of our tunes becomes yet more convoluted, i find is my mocking of pretentiousness any less a pretence? (myself and andreas crossed this sentence out twice) (we had a much better line but lost it forever... like so many unrealised ideas) for deaf viewers at home there will be a picture here: it's a house with 4 windows & a chimney on fire.

SONG COMPOSTITION & LYRICS whoa, ok. i'm struggling for context here; i kinda like where you're trying to go with this, but you're either missing something or you're years ahead of everything... make the songs a little more various, get a direction to the material. 6/10 the structure wasn't a main part of the tunes which in effect caused any good parts to be swamped out. the projection of the vocals meant every track sounded lifeless 5/10 live hiphop in all its forms is a slippery beast & the empty room doesn't help with clarifying the sound. that said, it still sounds very messy. it's all about the beats, but they're frequently drowned out by the smothering 'ambient' samples and the, frankly, irritating beatboxing. live rapping requires stripping down the sound so we can actually hear what's being said (it'll also then 5/10 COLLECTIVE ABILITY OF MUSICIANS there's no shortage of ideas here, and the programming shows promise - if the beats become a bit more prominent. beatboxer competent but over-used. vocals rushed & samey - slow down, breathe, relax. 6/10 the beatboxer has a lot of talent, give him room in your tracks to shine. 6/10 eliminate the need to to tell me what the song's about, on the off chance anyone gives a fuck) once the frontman had calmed down a little, at least everything kept in time but there's very little light & shade to differentiate the songs. curiously, more 5/10 STAGE PRESENTATION & PERFORMANCE ah, it's tough for electronic acts. the masks were a good idea, but either play up to the mystery or just go for the "bunch of guys" angle. music needs to be mixed sharper for live performance, vox need more definition, less mumbling, more variation. 5/10 very odd stage banter, unintentionally camp, nice 'gimmick' of masks but the lack of energy from the other members was mirrored by the awkward frontman, who doesn't have to explain his songs 2/10 could be done at the sample delivery level rather than hitting the 'loop' button and letting it run. visually it was all a bit static, but then the music never really threatened to inspire movement 5/10 POTENTIAL certainly not a saturated market around here, but you need to get either sharper or nastier to become a viable live act. it's a show... so perform some, you grok? 6/10 there were many brief moments of creative potential but the lack of any direction caused these to be lost & forgotten. less is more :) 6/10 from band nor audience. this all sounds relentlessly negative, which is a shame as i would imagine there's potential for something fine here. it's just very, very one 5/10 OVERALL COMMENTS you're either taking too many drugs, or not enough! seriously, though - interesting & bold effort, but needs a real good polish. 6/10 - 29/50 i'm all for experimental hip-hop but this has to be backed up with creativity, talent and showmanship refine everything back to the basics, use your beatboxer more. get more variety in vox 6/10 - 23/50 note at the moment & the vocals never pause for breath. simply reproducing a recorded product will not work live and that is what needs fundamentally changing as, currently, it all just seems like noise. 5/10 - 25/50

MOTLEY: as thick as thieves: an altercation for jabberwock fractals in grimethorpe park. hey shipwreckhead, there's a fascist dictator trapped inside everyone.... a bus stop in deep countryside is a lighthouse in pure darkness a haven of everything that civilisation should probably stand for... nothing scans better than a victim in a memorable hammock he will not drink from the mug with the incorrect horoscope. the biggest pusher writes prescriptions.... and in joined-up thinking. i even speak to the alkie who sleeps in a bus shelter as if he was a normally functioning human being! i treat my parents like my i treat my ex-girlfriends - grudgingly. enter the meatrix: "i have an eating disorder, it's called being poor" me and my cat watched 'back to the future 2' but he talked all the way through and didn't really understand it. (an indian in your wing mirror) ODYNOPHAGIA: when the deformed came out the storm drain/ I mourned their scorned pain, but finally tore their warm vein cuz fuck they beat me with a crowbar, endurer of extant for its validity but retreat only goes so far, so far glowing cars of these fibromayalgia radiation veterans showing scars, said if your troubled blind thrice I'll engulf em in pink lice, scale the building then outsource transformative liquid from your corset, I'm just that saved abortion leverage handling slaves extorsion/ tap the strored, dap the scored/ and wave to bravery engrave/ their saved and behave, two weeks later cunnilingus on rabies stricken baby kitten/ but violating whos schema they have conscent forms its maybe fitting, drift my schema O my flows don't go over well in public housing, that's true my friend I knew they send me mail bombs its arousing, now noone will dab morty's pores at the board meeting, for his 40 whores all will be restored from floored seating.

christine's wedding typically contained old faces it's embarassing to see again but traditional to speak to. the rotten lump of meat in my back garden is sponsored by the rotten lump of meat company (plc) flies buzz through my window like a glass cutting drill. we were too mack in passing the pills and no way was i ever taking that many anyway. they split into trivial pursuit segments of cheese. reading a woman's magazine over hayley's shoulder at the bar unfortunately si comes over and then it's all smiles for the thieving cheat. in science today mr. hill made a joke about the new immigrant kid being called 'klena' he said "here's your broom" and the rooms jaws just dropped. she just laughed it off and sat down tool blaring out her earphones under lavender hair (or sky blue, depending on the light). keira knightley & chloe james chester argue with me on how easy it is to pull. "for you, maybe" i tell the unlikely two and brush the cut grass off my trousers and make for the bar... and end up pulling down shelves in a supermarket in frustration at being busted for drugs i didn't even want... i don't think i even took one.... but i do feel weird now. i pull a baggie of green out of my pocket that they somehow missed and add it to four other bags of different shit and mix it all up as i wake up puff-less, why get up? to play manhunt and push down stairs kick legs the same method everytime it's getting tiring. somewhat repetitive visions of south downs collage stopped when i took aphex twin off repeat. somewhat repetitive visions of south downs collage stopped when i took aphex twin off repeat.

in this bedroom you can see your breath what's better than walking off almost any known psychosis? the idios kosmos of an idiot savant as point & click / graphic adventure which yes again sounds almost as pretentious as calling comics graphic novels respawn, left click, right click, respawn, DIE swap leads round when in need of sleep and make toast at three in the morning; eat. and your gold discs on the walls are all cheap CD-Rs... in this nictotine induced ketamin latency ASIO flashback you can hardly see the ceiling your feet are adhered to stepping round broken lightbulb glass floor bite masking tape in half to keep my hoodie's hood affixed. but it feels like the top of my head is coming off when i smile too hard i yawn till i dislocate my jaw. and the co-op has raised the price of it's loaves three times in as many days it's said. i write my name in condensation or on an isle of wight rock only to watch it erode away i can't seem to achieve permenance.

for some reason everything was blue and through a fish eye lens jesus wept septic tank tears nothing was sober alcohol and toothpaste breath led to a process of transfermentation watch eyes aglow as the mould grows over your face and when shaving the stray hairs spell out messages mostly with S's in them and then the plumbing retches up your solidified cement phlegm from who knows when and then finishing you return to your bedroom clutching handfuls of beard hair the carrier bag as bin is building up quite a voodoo collection far scarier than bank statement identity theft. don't like to look people in the eye or even the face when engaging in conversation? i find the best way is to stare at blank television! this empty eggshell's safe and warm you could crawl under a jigsaw piece fall asleep and wake up a better person ah for psychogenic fugue on the mobius strip's loop doomed to deja vu repeat the same scene over and over and over and over until you learn the lines. i'm the microwave equivalent of making masks for the leukemia gala this is proactive policing for peaches & crime i sleep like a nun and smoke waterbeds whole i'm the sick deer lying diagonally up the stairs to the third floor of your new house that only exists in a dream and kind of reminds you of your dead greyhound in scumper & double-glazed sunglasses i protect myself against psychics who are clutching broken arms cards close to their chest infections i don't even know when i'm joking i'm restless, impatient & very, very dull. see: EVERYTHING IS DIFFERENT routine broken re-routed into random displays of whatever's not nailed down what you confiscate the bandaged motherboard is the prime scapegoat from now on i'm never expressing an opinion my throat is set with cement phlegm, look I fill my sketchpad with words i have your plate and eat it fear not for lucrative bus station blues TV stops the lonely from going loopy... the hypoallergenic memory gland spouts inventive invective into the full-bellied minds of the hungry.

i feel like i'm in government i'm paid to do nothing but i spend my time writing words on t-shirts yes i wear t-shirts with words on i'm going to change the world. when i'm out in the street i see people reading me because i wear t-shirts with words on i'm going to change the world i write my messages backwards like emergency services so i am endressed for reflection. you can see me shop at withit & smiths for permenant marker my top is so humourous, you can tell instantly i'm cool. my hoodie's hilarious, listen to this one: "dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians" can you get any more pure comedy than that? i have noted revolutionary adorning my sportswear i dunno what he stood for, but he has a cool face. i liked rage against the machine, i cried when they split up who will supply my controversial shirt slogans now? they printed how to make a molotov on one piece of merchandise but responsibly left one vital ingrediant out. yeah, we got ironic swastikas... we got tops with swearwords cunningly mispelled... we got circles with 'A's in the middle... we got beanie hats with cannabis leaves on (could we make it any easier for the police?) we got misfits shoelaces, charity bracelets & skull sweatbands. one day we arranged to meet up in the park to show off our new rebellious slogans and pete showed up with the same guevara shirt on as me and i left his longsleeve torn & bloody. "conflict resolved" 'cause i wear shirts with slogans on beats being a corporate sandwich board i suppose... i am not like the pikeys wearing shirts with shoes & shops on no my sweatshop-assembled statements show my non conformity because i wear t-shirts with words on i'm going to change the world. my sweatshop-assembled statements show my non conformity because i wear t-shirts with words on i'm going to change the world.

are YOU the light of someone's life? no, you are showing your age i'm so backward i record off myspace onto tapes an empty cage in a window display is no pet shop my presence elects the negative, for after all, sometimes it's actually ruder to say "excuse me" past the art supply shop... proudly displaying small paintings of playboy bunnies (like it's some big thing) these days i need drugs to enjoy anything... and this is no exception! therapists are trying to reprogram the world on too small a scale it won't work. like 20,000 rubberducks adrift in the pacific ocean... but the seas have gone stagnant, train graveyard conveyer you can't buy that kind of class - because it's free. anoxia is an optional extra to any passengers in first class. oh to lose a debit card on a bank holiday... nothings / let's ever / put the clean / world to enough / rights again = "a romanticised concept." and hey, have you ever been round, er, women whose menstrual cycles have synchronised? i heard it's like twice as good as acid telepathy? i can only hope they're still finding bits of my fingernails now and have finally worked out how to feed a cat properly. you came in stinking /slash/ reeking of other people's perfume again... there's nothing like walking down, for example bognor high street after midnight when you're the only one around inciting imaginary traffic in a display of cowardice. and commerce is not dead it's just sleeping. unblock congestion charges with the brand new solution that every policeman should be a unique superhero with an individualised costume. oh, and all MPs should get minimum wage "wow." 98% of children say they love their parents. it's your dog's reputation that they're trying to ruin every wish i've ever made has come true but too late. who would be hiding between cars at this hour? or singing about carat gold to tune of chindie or chip-hop. crowd noise breaks the language barrier entwining useless id. at the burning man handing out a hundred wrong versions of our 'big hit'. "yeah, my mate discovered DNA..." <-- (actual big brother '08 contestant quote) the portsmouth it girls DJ and everything. oh to lose a debit card on a bank holiday... nothings / let's ever / put the clean / world to enough / rights again = "a romanticised concept." please don't be yourself in public, it's embaressing. everyone should be made to look like idiots occaisonly it's for their own good it's for our own good like a toothbrush matted with dry blood, chances scuppered by the most prolific peppering of pus. people like us shouldn't have little brothers to look up to. my life is a ridiculously fragile soap bubble of imagined ideals: so easilly burst. from now on i'm only writing songs that the caged bird likes and cuts along to one slice at a time like a straightened paperclip scraped in the webby flesh found between fingers in time to radio preachers, or maybe some plagiarists beats. it seems the freezer keeps food longer than human lifespan: it will outlive you. you can't draw blood, don't try in absence of red biro i will simply describe a fridge with an empty plug socket instead.

they say "threepwood, why you rap so fast? we can't hear your lyrics.." i'm just showing off the fact i can hold my breath for ten minutes that's why i happily gave up those mints to that pirate in prison and advise cannibal villages on vegetarianism. although i can't get served without my library card, despite the beard; "i don't want a shirley temple barman, i want a beer!" or some viscous green liquid that makes your phlegm thick. despite this i still cheated in the spitting contest anyway, all i got was this stupid t-shirt my occupation to me is a good way of avoiding real work sometimes i feel the smirk threaten to wrap round my whole face other times i shit myself in the face of battle and run away but you might as well turn and face a man when he's waving your effigy in doll form, all stuck with pins under an abandoned theme park, where this ends & begins. i discard any legends that you might have heard after. that was an imposter, i grew up & became a plasterer... but i saw the games on the shop shelves after i sold the stories of my exploits to lucasarts the bastards fired ron gilbert & continued to draft the story where i was supposedly found lost at sea floating in a dodgem car... a cop-out if you ask me and no-one will ever know what really happened next, no-one except me and i'm keeping my cards close to my chest. i mean, i already have an impending court case against disney for the events depicted within a certain film with a nautical theme i admit it, i wish i'd been in pirates of the carribbean but they said i was far too, uh, "unintentionally camp" they needed someone more macho i looked like i worked in a bank. "no, but i have done adverts for one..." i protested as they shoved me out the back door i wasn't even shown it first. and these days no-one makes the point & click games anymore, anyway. maybe i could get a guest appearance in the new sam & max game, that's all... i tried to get hold of them but they won't return my calls... i remember plugging them and bobbin from loom... now george from broken sword gets more work than i do. and i heard bernard from day of the tentacle is now serving burgers that are almost inedible in some star wars sponsored franchise fast food frenzy. oh, and lucas - those three prequels were shit! and we are pleased you are not doing more. no, this song above is shit.

freeads freeads! princess slayer required! own carpet essential, forestry experience not neccessary, we will not take references from underwater chainsawing dendrochronologists or any of the following McJobs... please see the footnote encoded with microdot in the asterix. non-religous air hostesses wearing crucifixes are dispensing minature spirits to Inuits sitting next to Yorkshiremen with ferrets in the inside of their astronaut outfits, will all ticket touts help remove the apocalyptic naysayers from this food ration stamp collectors convention queue? yes! we do employ scottish tramps living on chichester roundabouts who really own mansions and turn up to your house party wearing your ex girlfriends clothes with hankerchieves threaded through the holes in their bleeding septums and stand in for acceptance speeches with emotional actresses who weep themselves unconscious i call this piece reefer pedestal regret... suspend your immaculate disbelief for a moment as you eat marmite and peanut butter sandwiches off my authentically medieval edible plate do you agree with leo sayer that brown should be a different colour? suggestions on a postcard to the usual address please! a whole army of men carrying pregnant amputees proceed to launch abortions from the safety of trenches behind enemy lines the advertising executive who came up with the crazy frog ringtone masturbates over pictures of himself as a child whilst double parked a bellyfull of butane and saltwater cracked trainers for sale we will deliver! send us all your credit card numbers and if one comes up lucky you win a hundred lottery tickets and / or six weeks in prison deidre says sword swallowers make bad bolimics send away for our easy three-step vomiting workout video and recieve a sponsored native american child for christmas FREE- batteries not included. has your life become too complicated? then simplify it NOW with our Japanese minimalist home lobotomy kit! only 9.99 plus post futuristic postage and packaging, also 9.99..... don't know anyone you can trust to keep secrets? try keeping them yourself! is that your final answer? and now the million pound question- can you guess what'll happen first? the sun exploding going supernova or your plastic ski boots decomposing? distended! most corpulant. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE. can't decide what genre you are? then why not try doctor motley's patented home vagrancy test simply urinate on the matchstick provided and stand on one leg blindfolded till new year's day. don't like to look people in the face when engaging in conversation? i find the best way is to stare at blank television. stare at the ceiling of a supermarket and you might reveal it's true self.

the kids aren't playing platform games anymore...

i cannot waste my time on turn-based battles anymore... (or TV) as much as i'd like to be forever in a final fantasy for all i know these lumps on my penis could be cancer and time could be running out as i speak. (hence) RPG rehab for non player characters. RPG rehab for NPCs. RPG rehab for non player characters. RPG rehab for NPC. my parents always said to me that money doesn't grow in floating blocks with question marks on that you batter with your head and i usually went to the bathroom merely to stare at the dog face made in the random patterns in the cork tiles (or maybe some other more suitable substance) and i'll never try to use the toilet as a warp pipe again... i promise. computer games have lied to me. i spent the whole day hiding numbered packages around this city for GTA fans to find and i got done for littering and loitering. and saving the princess leads to visits from the gutterpress for the rest of your decidedly unprivate life. and i discovered you can't patch mortal wounds up with pizza or jump off a cliff and not break your legs cause you're wearing a bulletproof vest. and as for collecting miscellanous fruit & veg? it got me nowhere. other than considering opening my own grocers. hilarious i know. you can't walk on clouds or bounce on bubbles and in real life people lock their cars and have less dialogue. i cut scenes like a merciless editor ruining a primetime film on ITV. i'd like to see the day that someone really says: "i know the devil exists... i've built his cage!" in fact i view my life far too much like i've taken distant control of a sim. leave everything to last minute, burn candle at both ends sell rare possessions for potions and regret it much later. in a way it would make more sense staying up all night playing computer games instead of trying to write about them. or the pointless attempts at recollection of the contents of the old filing cabinet that in childhood i filled with scrawled rip-offs of sonic zones when everything was in two dimensions it seemed so easy to be a level designer when i grew up i mean, i get lost in real life enough without having to draw maps for platformers and shoot 'em ups these days leave me cold... "he can't cope with first person" you can't see your feet when leaping bottomless pits & other physically impossible obstacles... although once once i tried to swim out to sea.. maybe to france... and when i got so far... i bounced off an invisible barrier... which again i thought was suspicious at best.

new realms of accountancy: a murder of solicitors & seagulls squawk "it's hardly ethereal" sinking into the pillow shrinking a dark shape in the distance the size of an island "i thought you said we were going to disneyland, not the doctors"

fall billion explode into feathered mosaic a transformation to reflect a complex chemical process from autumn's ill; result in breakdown. my life does not revolve around giving you affection. which is what most of my ex-girlfriends said to me at one point or another little cat. as you eat your cat biscuits and munch your rank smelling whiskas tuna food and i cook my coffee of the day in a boiling kettle of water. sometimes i find the most exciting things to freestyle about in the morning like how the kettle's boiling oh yeah it's about to make a clicking sound that's very satisfying it just did. "RESIDENTS ONLY" earthquake in milton! survivors huddle in the pub a scarecrow like figure arrives with man dressed as magpie backing away from the woodlouse, he speaks: "there is a conspiracy between the three major music channels to time their advert breaks so they run simultaenously" the other agrees that rap is at it's worst when contorted into PARTY MUSIC it's painfully twisted limbs in coffin position for the simian plus the others throwing shapes in a club where no music plays but everyone's dancing the same this is the shepard's life rainbows reflecting off leather jackets with retro backpatches insignia of gangs that don't exist the gist of the matter is the motorcycle mechanic's outlook on life or as i call it brutally pointless survival we will freeze your tears to add to our brand new polar ice cap replacements we will build a hairpiece to cover the gap the ozone layer seeps out from "we're coal miners, ain't we? we'll dig a tunnel and hide from meteor!" "tentacles n' all" on a flattened rubik's cube landscape reminiscent of light cycle game from tron your mathematics is given physical form and left to run amok like a massive robot micheal jackson wandering nevada desert at night crying his innocence out to the still empty air this humidity is killing me and my ability to care hey!

MOTLEY: i lost value as soon as you took me out the packaging and bent broke & lost my badly made implements & weapons now there are mysterious toothmarks in the red chute and oxygen has somehow intruded inside i stick my fingers into the dripping bull dyke to save the damn i want no thanks just a stepladder & 3 kinds of lightbulb for my fallout shelter i will no longer write down my superstitions i'm afeared this makes them more real like belief is the force that fuels faith healing am i speaking in tongues? call the exorcist... amd ask him to buy some garlic a pair of odd socks and a thousand poppyseeds banned from marks & spencers xmas crackers for containing trace amounts of raw opium gather round and debate on my pencil case's latest big name additions meticously copied logos in tippex & multicoloured biros i'm happy with my stationary you can keep your vinyl i'm too old for the increasingly youthful charts but a respectable age to become a writer if only i could start making sense and stop being so coldly self-referential vaguely insolent and tactlessly manipulative in shadows clinging to my skin like rain soaked clothes cosy dark cold light i wasn't brought up i was dragged up you can't glamourise the drudgery of teaching a profession no-one envies let the minutes of this meeting show that no-one even turned up so i got my head down and rested my eyes a flywheel rolled away down the grassy knoll by the back garden of my old house and span several full rotations like a hyperactive planet before coming to rest outside a pawn shop the brilliant sunlight playing off its surface in a billion random points of light last night i dreamt another well-known died and i woke up checking i don't have a tonguebar. ODYNOPHAGIA: roll with dysentery from a disinterested yet complicit commisioner Suspicion too! Did they say I'm the assistant to the complicit who commisioned you. Outdismay their condition through "He's safe now" (a barbed reliance) as my fathers took bleeding though a vibratory skull pick-ups I.... Feeling my cut mouth in the stone mall convinced I was destined to die young/ Now Hangler slide on clothesline test yet I'm sequestered from high rungs/ Bitch I've fed tolls, close my eyes and swing this lead pole, laugh as heads roll/ stuttering guttered teens have O negate drain dreams/ To attain their beams, step away from the thresher in relation to what I wrought/ Pass segatious to sewing your ears shut as translation of a thought/ You're on the bench B/ essentially first desensitize your penis head/ Impotent? check your homies spleen for meds/ Dont wait around! I've seen you dead, in a nursing room, times illusion of sliding scale, why abide its rails, I hide the trident in 35, face alter and hide in jail MOTLEY: the TV granny scammer he was N/A he was NFA by the time the season's shown his spastic tremors as we see him onscreen i fish a flea out of the water i just drank glare at the cat cramps from the joypad a packet of menthodex a year past it's best before date i am currently embroiled in a tumultuous mission to go down the shops and buy a lighter strictly clipper i don't expect anyone else to live by my rules that's the first sign of madness as newly intelligent livestock e.g. cattle agree to carry on before as normal in a peace treatyesque deal but with certain diplomatic perks because we defend their farms against these oversize chess pieces building grid systems over wasted green the pieces we then eat inbetween archery practice piercing civilian shaped targets incurs a minus score ah to meet the devil at the crossroads at midnight and offer him the bump deal of my soul. severed ladies fingers stick from out our cocktails to help us bring up the inevitable sick in the afterglow we feast on forcefed geese down a funnelwebbed throat spiced with human seeds garlic and ginger you see every single wanker on this planet's an abortion doctor so repress yourself, shut up and get back in line.