God Bless You Blood Thirsty Zeppelins - текст песни
God Bless You Blood Thirsty Zeppelins
[Bullhorn:]
"Save the falsetto valentines for the black ice cube toast, for the filth roast."
[Classified:]
You know she looks so clinique,
but when you think she's asleep,
we're watching from inside the pilots seat.
Because unfortunately this Marylin Monroe is a secret Zeppelin
whose sweat rains down napalm confetti on all black tie celebrations.
[Bullhorn:]
Tear out your carnivorous toupee for the afro fire,
save your hors'dovours for the boiling lobster choir.
[Classified:]
You know she looks so vulnerable in that snakeskin shawl,
but we're watching through her cut out eye holes
(because unfortunately this Marylin Monroe is a Secret Zepplin
known towing a sign across the Coca-cola sky that reads S.S. Penetration)
God Bless you Bloodthirsty Zeppelins!
[Technique:]
And now we're flying over the past
and future butchered from out brains and left to rot.
And now we're flying over the television towers
plastering the air with the filthy film of prayer.
We don't need a blueprint, we don't need a blue print
the blue prints me, the blue prints you.
[Classified:]
We'll build our engines from hyjacked hymans.
Propellers churning in whispered fury.
We'll pluck our bombs from the greased pouch
of your presidents propighanda pupa louse.
[Message received:]
"Honey I'll be home late, from the office today,
up to my neck in paperwork, yeah,
my boss is such a jerk."
[Telephone wire:]
"Yeah she bought the story...there's a motel up the street...
so show me your surrender face baby"
[Bullhorn:]
Unfortunately this Marylin Monroe is a secret Zeppelin
set on a crash coarse with your cumshot museum
with the blowjob bunny mansion.
[Technique:]
And now we're flying over factories manufacturing authentic ecstacy.
And now we're flying over the swamp
that brews the biggest smiles, cackling teeth in piles.
And now we're flying over the globe
derobed all the houses x-rayed all our thoughts exposed.
And all the copyrighted memories in my head spill to the floor
in a puddle of hungry lead.
And while the traffic weaves human tapestry's
we sing a chord to the frustriation symphony.
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