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This man may have a shit load to prove |
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He's got to settle a score against the groove |
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Infinite orgasm, endless joy and pain |
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Like thunder to my ears, like a holy rain |
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An aural wall of waking, a wash in purple paint |
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And a digging of the flowers in your yard |
|
Electric rays of healing intensify the feeling |
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Of hatred towards the things you say |
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I ain'tFear a man-child, his soul and semen |
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Pathetic thoughts he thinks forever |
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Heard you caused a landslide, walking home |
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Saw you slide the man-child under your coat |
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Product of your generation |
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Product of your masturbation |
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Product of a master plan |
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Product of a holy man |
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Product of infanticide |
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Product of decaying minds |
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Product of your mass corruption |
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Product of, production, production |
