I took this photograph soaking wet

After an 8-ball's cataract broke a jazz face threat

The same touch to the chest of a young musician

He wrote his own eulogy with cocaine hands

Heroin arms, Novocain undies

Long since dropped in the room for dead (animals)

Off of the dome, shit I'm off of the phone

Off of the couch, off track

I've been OTB with a stub and a heart murmur

A flask and a fanny pack

A bastard on any track

(C'mon) Daddy needs a new Megatron

Cause the die cast was metal and blasted his left arm

You should've viewed how it affected John

He's an erected brother, choose to burst loose from the black panther

Cannonballing from mattresses into puny little fragments

Gleaming white under the black light

Well that's a random journal entry from scissor-hand nostalgia

Powers down to transfers

To somewhat like the methodology of bare-knuckle compassion

A train wreck waiting to happen

Spelled out in refrigerator magnets

G-R-O-W-N-A-S-S-M-A-N, Duckin' his own death threats

We stay fresh (What?)

You microscopic Sally Struthers with a lobster bib, munchin' on white platelets

Epiphanies lead battle soprano

Come back to dead friends, the hardest way to get sent

You motherfuckers don't have grit, you're all teenage poetry, martyrs without causes

Move onwards to the pin with this (test)

Motherfucker, did I sound abstract?

I hope it sounded more confusing than that

My priority was found under the arm of an economy-sized mousetrap 

I dedicate this to Matt Doo (thank you)

My name is El-P, I produce and I rap too

 

You're not promised tomorrow

You're not promised tomorrow

You're not promised tomorrow

You're not promised tomorrow

You're not promised tomorrow

You're not promised tomorrow

You're not promised tomorrow

You're not promised tomorrow

 

Yo, yo

A bottle [rocket], conflicted, I'll throw you a flaming [wingnick]

Looking for a hero's stars, Looking for heart in the halls

I swear, that lust monkey sweat soaks my balls       

And this is one step from a junkie living, breakin in doors

[My face low], for thermonucleus games

Spill rain the open drain, who the fuck is down to steal me some pain

I'm feeling ancient with this shit, on some capitalist order scripts

I'm lit, trying to draw this figure eight with a twig

As if the symmetry alone is the perscription to live

The rusty touch throughout the tongs are working, plummeting in

This is a far cry from the prevalential focus of things

Another rally 'round the family 'til the quota complete

My generation is beautiful, [all the rep hold the bliss]

Wet ears, and adjust the mood 'til my final exit

Plus we torture on the traumas in exact moon script

Tuned Mass Damper baby, yeah, that's the shit