Church Pants

[Hook: Rob Sonic & Aesop Rock] When the rats rose up and broke their silence And assembled on the shores of the closest island With their folk beside them and a rogue defiance Went 2 by 2 and awoke Poseidon 2 by 2 by 2 by 2... [Verse 1: Rob Sonic] Leopard print Speedo on the F.D.R. saying "follow that car" Same maze different shit name sake blanket pocked 49 miners slick pick and pan, thanks a lot Hook and reel pushing wheels building more storied land Honest deal daily dose, aching bone, quarry hand I praise the day porn began Loser wins a cupie doll, not the father Maury dance Saddle spin apple sins kings that cry Ousted by the clergy we're not worthy of the crimson tide Let it be just beware of prison pride Proud Mary keep on burning down the house there’s kids inside Give it time speaking soft send him in Tell him what he’s here for and appear sure to his next of kin Set your sails bed of nails elbow back Trading in the British pound sitting down with Meadow's dad Kettles black might explode sign the paper Resuscitate me if the doctors are the kind that cater Labor party line, primed with wine and wafer... You’ll get buried in the desert like I’m Gator, hater! [Verse 2: Aesop Rock] Pink bunny slippers on the F.D.R. saying "follow that car" Moth man morph devoid of a new cocoon More aches in his joints than joints in his human suit No cigar, scoop dirt smitty over hook-in-mouth Foot work itchy for a hoof and snout, do or die intruder bound Zoomed on the stupefying truancy of Santa's little helpers watching millie pull her Brooklyn out Part hex, part dark RX, part kill the headlights when approaching a harpy nest Ever oscillating Arp noise, operate and charter stone hearts out of gargoyles Ditto on the guard dogs, ruff! This is not behavior distorted by the presence of other personage More a naturally occurring perfect mess Couriering letters from the burning bridge Paranormal death-match, check back early-ish Crack bread, marry a cursed hand To it's weapon like a Slurpee to church pants, I circle the worm can I'm 21 spud guns burped over Birdland Whole time swervin' the work van