El-P - Tuned Mass Damper Lyrics
I took this photograph soaking wetAfter an 8-ball cataract broken jazz bass frettThe same touch to the chest of a young musicianHe wrote his own eulogy with cocaine handsHeroin arms, Novocaine memoriesLost since dropped into room from pink mammariesOff of the dome, shit I'm off of the phoneOff of the couch, off trackOut at OTB with a stub and a heart murmurA flask in 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 John, causeHe erected bubble truths that burst loose from a glass bear hugCannonballing from mattresses for kitty litter fragmentsGleaming white under the black lightWell that's a random journal entry from scissor-hand nostalgiaPowers down to transfersTo some elected methodology of bare-knuckle compassionA train wreck waiting to happenSpelled out with refrigerator magnetsG-R-O-W-N-A-S-S-M-A-N, ducking his own death threatsAnd stay fresh (What?)Microscopic Sally Struthers with a lobster bib,Munching on white plateletsEpiphanies leap out and surpriseOff of a batch of dead friends, the hardest way to get zenYou mother*****ers don't have grit,You're all teenage poetry, martyrs without causesAlarmists and opinions (get taxed)Mother*****er, did I sound abstract?I hope it sounded more confusing than thatCause my clarity was found under the armOf an economy sized mouse trapI 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, yoI'm bottle rocket conflicted, all dirty with flame on wic nitLookin for a hero in stores, looking for heart of gold whoresI swear the lust monkey sweat soaks in my poresAnd this is one step from a junky liver breaking in doorsThey playing global thermal nucleus gamesLets rearrange the whole complaintWho the ***** is down to steal me some paint?We could get ancient with this shiton some cavernous wall Description, I'm litTrying to draw this figure eight with a twigAs if the symmetry alone is a prescription to liveThe rusty touch the rubble convert working plummeting MIGCause its a dogfight for the privilege of hope as a fixAnd I'mma rally round the family till the quota conflictsMy generation is beautiful coma, REM hold the blissAnd the answer that just eluded you my friend don't existUnless we torch our own entrapments and exact our own scriptsTuned mass damper baby, yeah that's the shit
