SMIRK THE GODBLENDER LYRICS
by THOUGHT INDUSTRY
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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
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
[II) Who Took My Holiday Inn Bible?]
Protestants. Catholics. Jews. Islam. Baptists.
Lutherans. Mormons. Orthodoxy. Christian science.
Jehovah's witness. Methodists. Episcopalians are
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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