Fryerstarter by Aesop Rock
Fryerstarter lyrics
Let me put you up on bob's donuts, controller of the warm deep-fryer that charmed cobras
Mostly it was aggravated ulcers of a goat's legs
Will they go for maple custard, buttermilk, or wolfsbane?
Late after your cinderella pulsate and crash I was rotating casts
Picture, if you will, a witching hour on a week-night in the trenches
Where paranoia dead-ends in a bright fluorescent heaven
With sprinkles...
I know, right? Yum!
Whether tummy-ache or fever keep the funnel cake
I'm honey-glaze in vitro in the company of similar believers
Sleepless
We hear the walls breathe and foam at the facial features
Now the yeast
A phoenix in the partially hydrogenated, equal parts flour,
Faith-healing might replace your previously nominated jesus
But only if you're privy the following secret of all secrets
I boil oil, too, not for scarfing
For cc's of japanese innovation that screech into free parking
Purple heart and second chin up beseeching to squeeze the carbs into the motherboard
You can chew the eucharist in cruller form
Locally, a seedy danish underworld is bustling,
Where jelly's not a celebrated stuffing, it's a puppet string
Pluck
Nose for canola, five cow stomachs like a mime with her rope going nowhere fast
Right hand of god on my shoulder,
Crow's feet swollen, dopey,
Combing apple fritters over
With folk of opposing cultures
Babysitter, cop, thief, reverend
Body glitter, botched c-section, bronze teeth
Each progressively more sequestered
Yet if threatened will defend the raisin bread as co-defendants
Some lose religion or view it as superstition
You can tell a friend if you where down to kill them
The fat boys are back, foam fingers over open arms
To feverishly reclaim their stomachs from golden jars
We stagger to the pulse of a gulch on the builder's dividends
Hiding high behind his guilty powdered sugar fingerprints
Seething eventide fever sidewalk feeling a little dicey
I'm snake eyes straight to the cake's icing
Might, fortune-teller up your favorite paper tiger stripe
Great, grace invaders
The first-name-basis patron haters
Who compromise the pilot light and flavors
Silent night, holy night, invite the pious of the pagan
Midnight, kitchen door uncaging the enablers
Like butchers in bloody aprons
Can I get a fucking amen?
Hazelnut raiders that are lost
Navigate consecutive pastries like stations of a cross
No day, no day job
Know the folk where it's virgin mary toast by the loaf
Thanks, bob!
|
