Thought Industry Daterape Cookbook lyrics

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Daterape Cookbook by Thought Industry Daterape Cookbook lyrics (I Interstellar Combine Races Towards Pluto) Milk toast shag scabs greased lips. Propped north ass pastel pillows. Digest tight Valentino damp boxes. Elmer's glazed moron teeth. Squeel rabbits drip baby oil. Cock mainline love malted. Mods carve the pig speared on their spits. Brent was bored, rolling in his vomit on the chapel floor. Lost his bankcard, then kicks creamy stalls urine shit 'gotta headache whore. Permed hair whips farm boys wild. Gnashing groins prim blast hole. Screaming Wilbur's fat dissolves. Nathan lurch. Elmer "pulls out". Chipper New York ska skanks 78 speed. Pork steroid film protection. Dosed Shriner's tiny cars explode. Brent was bored, picking on the fairy on the disco floor. Drowns in gossip, and hears through the "scene" that his girlfriend's a social whore. Forgive her. So punch in her ribs and say you missed her. Fool, you lose. Her life is nothing. Jane's life means nothing. (II Joppa Soy Field (Where's Philip Whalen?) Bullie Jeb beats my ass, and his slut consumes my blue pills. The sand in my bubblegum cracks like a spoonful of ants. Inchworm. Write down. Pen all the trash in my head. Pearl cheek. Tattooed high. Four pastor boys caught in bed. No pants, senator? Spotted owls rape lumberjacks. Write down, pen all the smut in my forehead. Manure wagons stacked skunk weed. Smoke crack blistered fannie. Helicopter cops mace wheat rows. Drunk beatniks escape in chevies. Naked man dance bonfire, telemarketing grandma. Duc-tape her mouth, and slit her throat. Brent was bored, calling in a bomb threat to the republican ball. Drowns in gossip, and hears through the "scene" that his girlfriend 's a social whore. You whore. Kick in her face and say you missed her. Fool, you lose. Her life is nothing. Jane's life means nothing to you.

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