Mirror, Mirror, On the World
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The holy algorithm said, There's no way this song will work.
I mean sure, it's crap, but why be a fucking jerk?
Change your coordinates man, the world might get flatter.
Blow out your own brains, jerk off white matter splatter.
Are you deaf? He asked.
Just enough, I said.
I'm stopped at the corner of Screwed and Your Dead.
Drugged up, drugged down, 3rd grade politic.
Who runs this town?
Busted Head and his nightstick?
The dick algorithm said, There's no way this song will work.
Who's fucking fault is that?
Taught, bought, caught berserk.
Change those wrong ways man, the world might get better.
You can blow out your own brains, beats being a life long bed wetter.
So I puke up thirty-two flavors of white shit
on that corner where there's a sculpture made of granite
because I threw a stone at a dumb cop's head
over at the department of correct. Yeah, he's dead.
And we drag the world on it's ass
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Written by: Planet B
Lyrics © MOTHERSHIP MUSIC PUBLISHING
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind