Kiss the Cook - Blockhead, Aesop Rock

I puke a worm in your mouth, I punch a hole in the screen

I hold my nuts when I rap, I throw my phone in the sea

Notice the woefully unfrozen mosey up out of Cocytus

Dap his homie, check his vitals, swat a bogie 'til he spirals

The golden oldie miners hack a nugget out the river dance

Press it to the boogie break, dress it up in pentagrams

Wookie face, look

I don’t panic in the fray, I broadcast all black magic with a K

OK?!

Late to his own selfies

The belly is King Hippo, the MO is Van Helsing

The hello is from a portrait of abhorrent man melting

Spells out help in his canned corn helping

And never pushed mongo, back foot kicking out the larval stage

Front foot navigate the marble maze

Blues crooners off the usual at Hooters

Drag a Lilliputian kicking and screaming into the future

Okay, I wrote this eating tekka maki off a naked lady

In a questionable wardrobe for which you can blame the 80's

A reference to his adolescent days in basic training

Way before devolving into self-deluded naval gazing, um

Wakey wakey jaded makers of the Achey-Breaky Heart

Feign valor, brain matter wading through the mason jar

Stare at the sun 'til he bay at the moon

Share crumbs with the drums 'til he lay in a tomb, vroom

Cold roll-up on a very clean easel

Turn a landscape into unspeakable evil, eek

It’s un-freaking believable, freakish over fitting in

Voices in his head that beleaguer the equilibrium

Sit down Waldo, his form is barely functional

Messenger of death, professionally uncomfortable

And I don’t always push all my convictions through the Neumann

But you people still defending the police are fucking poison

Blood vessel in his eye all fucked up

From holding up the sky all nyuck nyuck

My wires all criss crossed, I’m equally happy to rap or get lost

Old cro-mag throwing scraps at the sled dogs

Yes y’all, death hawking his distress call

Horsefly back-stroking through the bread bowl

Bed sores, bad hair, raised on bad news

Make bad songs you could twirl a bad 'stache to

Nanu Nanu, styles like wild javelinas stampeding over Bob Dobalinas

With a boomerang, bow, slingshot and ocarina

Rock shock, not the property of any knocking reaper

All these posers, aggie and un-chauffeured

Came to the party like a pox on the culture

Flip the rook — kiss the cook