EL-P - TUNED MASS DAMPER Lyrics

* I took this photograph soaking wetAfter an 8-ball's cataract broke a jazz face threatThe same touch to the chest of a young musicianHe wrote his own eulogy with cocaine handsHeroin arms, Novocain undiesLong since dropped in the room for dead [animals]Off of the dome, sh*t I'm off of the phoneOff of the couch, off trackI've been OTB with a stub and a heart murmurA flask and a fanny packA bastard on any track(C'mon) Daddy needs a new MegatronCause the die cast was metal and blasted his left armYou should've viewed how it affected JohnHe's an erected brother, choose to burst loose from the black pantherCannonballing from mattresses into puny little fragmentsGleaming white under the black lightWell that's a random journal entry from scissor-hand nostalgiaPowers down to transfersTo somewhat like the methodology of bare-knuckle compassionA train wreck waiting to happenSpelled out in refrigerator magnetsG-R-O-W-N-A-S-S-M-A-N, Duckin' his own death threatsWe stay fresh (What?)You microscopic Sally Struthers with a lobster bib, munchin' on white plateletsEpiphanies lead battle sopranoCome back to dead friends, the hardest way to get sentYou motherf**kers don't have grit, you're all teenage poetry, martyrs without causesMove onwards to the pin with this (test)Motherf**ker, did I sound abstract?I hope it sounded more confusing than thatMy 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 tooYou're not promised tomorrowYou're not promised tomorrowYou're not promised tomorrowYou're not promised tomorrowYou're not promised tomorrowYou're not promised tomorrowYou're not promised tomorrowYou're not promised tomorrowYo, yoA bottle [rocket], conflicted, I'll throw you a flaming [wingnick]Looking for a hero's stars, Looking for heart in the hallsI 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 gamesSpill rain the open drain, who the f**k is down to steal me some painI'm feeling ancient with this sh*t, on some capitalist order scriptsI'm lit, trying to draw this figure eight with a twigAs if the symmetry alone is the perscription to liveThe rusty touch throughout the tongs are working, plummeting inThis is a far cry from the prevalential focus of thingsAnother rally 'round the family 'til the quota completeMy generation is beautiful, [all the rep hold the bliss]Wet ears, and adjust the mood 'til my final exitPlus we torture on the traumas in exact moon scriptTuned Mass Damper baby, yeah, that's the sh*t