S6- Music for Plants (Ruderalis)

Wow, yeah.. You know what I do (Tripper shit) chemical wizardry



(I'm gonna tell you a story of the most exciting trip I ever took.)



Yo, intellectual stone from the primus hermetic

Circulate a minus on that vegetable stone

Playing alchemy, panting out the trees, I creep like edible dough

I vaporize that soul soaked spirit, mercury tar and fractionist

Two fists balled up like psychedelic cactuses

I'll punch open your chakras and pour psychoactive reactants in

Addict brims get split from the ends

Get rid of my flesh in to wolves clothes like Nikolas Schreck

I transcend reptilian Godhood into insects

Off the air moisture like alkaline salt extraction

That dissolves into liquid in sets

On the seventh we study temperament stringents and hex

Place a glass jar in a cupboard

Alcohol poured, sort oil tinctures, filter the reds

The bloom pop, drop two in the go

Whole room box purple cubes of blue in the go

Spit with acrylic text

Two dozen blue nitrous balloons with the hoes

Rooms getting slow

Next winter I'll pull the moon down in the snow

You puff trees?

I'll blow your brains out to make more room for the smoke

Leave you in the woods for so long foliage grew through your clothes



"If one could think so hard, what would happen? You'd die."



Dismember hands

Or forearms like Syrian theft and brand your chest

With Lucifer's stars coded in hexagrams

I'm revolting like Riki-Oh's Warden

Burning scotch pine

Rock alive as obsidian encased in Nephilim unearthed after rock slides

You get cut fast, cut slashed at mach-5

With a razor from a broken Mach 5

My body count like dead bodies of whales that wash up on shore and block tides

I'll put you in a box in the sky, like a boxed kite

I'm not right

Waving arms in a vest like a crossing guard by a stop sign

I'll push your wig lop-side

I talk about Glock 9s

Not to toy

I'm just a paranoid anarchist who hates handcuffs and cop rides

My knife act stuck up, it's a snob

It'll leave you washed dry, then cut you off like a poshed wife



(Now your majesty, what is my name? "At first she asked: Is your name Tom?" Nope. "Is it Dick?" Noo. "Is it by chance..Jak Tripper [laughing]) [an excerpt from Rumplestiltskin]