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Correct Fryerstarter Lyrics
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Artists: A
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Aesop Rock
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Correct Fryerstarter
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Lyrics:
Let me put you up on bob's donuts, controller of the warm deep-fryer that charmed cobras Mostly it was aggravated ulcers of a goat's legs Will they go for maple custard, buttermilk, or wolfsbane? Late after your cinderella pulsate and crash I was rotating casts Picture, if you will, a witching hour on a week-night in the trenches Where paranoia dead-ends in a bright fluorescent heaven With sprinkles... I know, right? Yum! Whether tummy-ache or fever keep the funnel cake I'm honey-glaze in vitro in the company of similar believers Sleepless We hear the walls breathe and foam at the facial features Now the yeast A phoenix in the partially hydrogenated, equal parts flour, Faith-healing might replace your previously nominated jesus But only if you're privy the following secret of all secrets I boil oil, too, not for scarfing For cc's of japanese innovation that screech into free parking Purple heart and second chin up beseeching to squeeze the carbs into the motherboard You can chew the eucharist in cruller form Locally, a seedy danish underworld is bustling, Where jelly's not a celebrated stuffing, it's a puppet string Pluck Nose for canola, five cow stomachs like a mime with her rope going nowhere fast Right hand of god on my shoulder, Crow's feet swollen, dopey, Combing apple fritters over With folk of opposing cultures Babysitter, cop, thief, reverend Body glitter, botched c-section, bronze teeth Each progressively more sequestered Yet if threatened will defend the raisin bread as co-defendants Some lose religion or view it as superstition You can tell a friend if you where down to kill them The fat boys are back, foam fingers over open arms To feverishly reclaim their stomachs from golden jars We stagger to the pulse of a gulch on the builder's dividends Hiding high behind his guilty powdered sugar fingerprints Seething eventide fever sidewalk feeling a little dicey I'm snake eyes straight to the cake's icing Might, fortune-teller up your favorite paper tiger stripe Great, grace invaders The first-name-basis patron haters Who compromise the pilot light and flavors Silent night, holy night, invite the pious of the pagan Midnight, kitchen door uncaging the enablers Like butchers in bloody aprons Can I get a fucking amen? Hazelnut raiders that are lost Navigate consecutive pastries like stations of a cross No day, no day job Know the folk where it's virgin mary toast by the loaf Thanks, bob!
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