歌曲 | Diseases Of Yore - Original |
歌手 | MC Frontalot |
专辑 | Final Boss |
Maybe you'll never die | |
Maybe you're gonna live forever and ever and ever... | |
You don’t meet a lot of people in emergency rooms | |
who’ve got ANTHRACOSIS, CONSUMPTION | |
or WOMB FEVER. June Cleaver never suffered. | |
She had the penicillin, no expiration when she mothered | |
her no-good little death-proof brats. | |
Living little ones once were preciouser than that. | |
Living anybody used to be a miracle, yo. | |
You’d get et by the festering hysterical flow | |
of madnesses and bad diseases of mole, | |
lung, eye, and humor, spirit and soul. | |
All these afflictions engender aversions: | |
I catch GREEN SICKNESS to match with the virgins; | |
SCROFULA coughs that I cast askance; | |
ever since BLACK SCURVY, I can’t wear pants. | |
And I can’t but dance with glee that it’s not then now. | |
“I bet you got the TARANTISM.” – and how! | |
Maybe you’ll never die, | |
maybe you’re going to live forever | |
and never have anything wrong with you, | |
and until you do, | |
you won’t worry about it. | |
‘Cause you’re probably fine; | |
maybe you should pretend to forget to remember | |
the bullet that’s meant for you, | |
until it’s overdue, | |
and it runs you through. | |
I got GALLOPING DROPSY and CHEESE WASHER’S LUNG. | |
Leaves me with ASTHENIA, THE CROUP, and a dung heap | |
of unbearably fetid excreta, from which I get re-infected. | |
Nice to meetcha—how about a hug? I swear my ICHOR is down | |
and I got over the PESTILENCE. It was intense. I astound | |
the historians. I’m PICARDY SWEATY. | |
Just ran out of leeches (that I need) (such as for bloodletting). | |
It’s upsetting! There, I’m upset! | |
Dose of FRENCH DISTEMPER throbbing up in my head! | |
I don’t go into BILIOUS FLUX just yet, but about to | |
give out a shout to the CHOLERA. Doubt you | |
could follow a charting of the manifold ways I’m ill: | |
ILIAC PASSION, SPELTER’S CHILL, | |
WEAVER’S BOTTOM, and a MELANCHOLY ACHE. | |
If my fever doesn’t break, raise a glass at the wake. | |
Yea verily, shouldn’t ought to put in the belly | |
AGUE CAKE with the COLLOID JELLY. | |
Now you come telling me check in the mind, | |
that all of these infirmities combined define a | |
time-traveling hypochondria epidemic (one I suffer under). | |
But on the other side of the globe from affluence, | |
THE DEATH is still thriving. Thus, contract thence. |
Maybe you' ll never die | |
Maybe you' re gonna live forever and ever and ever... | |
You don' t meet a lot of people in emergency rooms | |
who' ve got ANTHRACOSIS, CONSUMPTION | |
or WOMB FEVER. June Cleaver never suffered. | |
She had the penicillin, no expiration when she mothered | |
her nogood little deathproof brats. | |
Living little ones once were preciouser than that. | |
Living anybody used to be a miracle, yo. | |
You' d get et by the festering hysterical flow | |
of madnesses and bad diseases of mole, | |
lung, eye, and humor, spirit and soul. | |
All these afflictions engender aversions: | |
I catch GREEN SICKNESS to match with the virgins | |
SCROFULA coughs that I cast askance | |
ever since BLACK SCURVY, I can' t wear pants. | |
And I can' t but dance with glee that it' s not then now. | |
" I bet you got the TARANTISM." and how! | |
Maybe you' ll never die, | |
maybe you' re going to live forever | |
and never have anything wrong with you, | |
and until you do, | |
you won' t worry about it. | |
' Cause you' re probably fine | |
maybe you should pretend to forget to remember | |
the bullet that' s meant for you, | |
until it' s overdue, | |
and it runs you through. | |
I got GALLOPING DROPSY and CHEESE WASHER' S LUNG. | |
Leaves me with ASTHENIA, THE CROUP, and a dung heap | |
of unbearably fetid excreta, from which I get reinfected. | |
Nice to meetcha how about a hug? I swear my ICHOR is down | |
and I got over the PESTILENCE. It was intense. I astound | |
the historians. I' m PICARDY SWEATY. | |
Just ran out of leeches that I need such as for bloodletting. | |
It' s upsetting! There, I' m upset! | |
Dose of FRENCH DISTEMPER throbbing up in my head! | |
I don' t go into BILIOUS FLUX just yet, but about to | |
give out a shout to the CHOLERA. Doubt you | |
could follow a charting of the manifold ways I' m ill: | |
ILIAC PASSION, SPELTER' S CHILL, | |
WEAVER' S BOTTOM, and a MELANCHOLY ACHE. | |
If my fever doesn' t break, raise a glass at the wake. | |
Yea verily, shouldn' t ought to put in the belly | |
AGUE CAKE with the COLLOID JELLY. | |
Now you come telling me check in the mind, | |
that all of these infirmities combined define a | |
timetraveling hypochondria epidemic one I suffer under. | |
But on the other side of the globe from affluence, | |
THE DEATH is still thriving. Thus, contract thence. |