Smirk The Godblender - Thought Industry

Smirk The Godblender - Thought Industry

Альбом
Mods Carve the Pig - Assassins, Toads, and God's Flesh
Год
1993
Язык
`English`
Длительность
358810

Below is the lyrics of the song Smirk The Godblender , artist - Thought Industry with translation

Lyrics " Smirk The Godblender "

Original text with translation

Smirk The Godblender

Thought Industry

Rot disease doc cowers sly.

Bigot’s digest blacklist

Trade.

Homophobic?

Barb’s pro-life?

Fist happy

Conservative.

White gold home shopping cross.

Vinyl

Infant nailed Jesus style.

Huddled ignorant cult of

Chumps sobbing

Himmler cops sip raisin rum.

Christmas eve

December bliss.

Tossed balloons of santa paint splash

Lovell and south rose.

Watch grandma’s swastika

Taunt dad’s foundation walls.

She expressed ice nerve

And speech, and they know I’m more left than right

Burn the country clubs.

Rich white man.

Scared white

Man.

This is me, face turned wry.

Snow

Electric my passion punch.

Sheep test the artichoke

Kill liddy.

Love Stanley III.

Days of height and

Milbrook house;

and I wonder of April 16th?

Wavy

Gravy and Ram Das.

And I’m reading the oracle, and

I’m feeling more god than straight.

Burned beneath the

Lids.

Hoffman’s here.

Krassner’s there.

Kids will play

Load Jim’s .44 behind the ATM.

Await Mercedes

Benz.

Sugar man behind the wheel.

Shoving cocked

Piece to his cheek.

Have him pull his max in green

George called it «War on Drugs», but I call it «War on

Love.»

War on all my friends.

Leave us free to choose

And be.

This is me.

Rubbed in shit.

Old shoes.

Huge

Clue

(II) Who Took My Holiday Inn Bible?)

Protestants.

Catholics.

Jews.

Islam.

Baptists

Lutherans.

Mormons.

Orthodoxy.

Christian science

Jehovah’s witness.

Methodists.

Episcopalians are

Falling down

Blend it, religions crime.

Grind it, religion dies

(III) I’d Rather Hide Than Be Dead, But I’d Rather Be Dead Than Dumb)

Humpback slitting sicily.

Exxon glaze.

Ramming

Japs.

Blood gushing raw blowhole.

Crone whale

Lambasting death.

Sand scraped and forcible shored

Metaphor lays mucked and dies.

I laugh, «I know what

She’s doing.

She’s choosing her final time.

Hemingway

Like grave.

What is land is lost at sea.»

This is me.

Face

Torn blind.

Ribs cracked.

Tongue lost

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