[Verse 1: Aesop Rock]
Before shooting troops was cooler than hula hoops
High noon was your basic who's who of brutal truth
Hot summer gun or box-cutter slow dance
Turn a young'n to a dozen paper dolls holding hands
And tricky was a wooden horse pushed up on your porch
So chicanery was yours to engage or ignore
I was on the latter, but a lot adopt pawns
So we carried lawn chairs and buckets of popcorn
(Pass the popcorn) Brawl fair, cop car
Voyeur hawk him out his hinges, storm door splinters
Clamoring about, hammers out about to ring
Infiltrate each others tribes and murder each others queens
Packed to the very last rafter
Clung to the rafts and the cameras to capture the damage
Neck swivel with a chop chop volley
Where the ants leave nothing, but the bones and the car keys
Pardon if his two feet fester, it was rude of me people, meet left and lefter
Planted like a model of civility and honor for the sector
But never got his extra extra
Peace for the better but it wasn't entertaining
So they waited for the tazing from the safety of his haven
Like bees to the honey when they lumped you up
Cause bumper cars are only funny when they bump
Hot summer gun or box-cutter slow dance- popcorn, popcorn...
Hot summer gun or box-cutter slow dance- capture the damage
(Yo, this dude talks real slow yo... Crazy
Yeah man that's my boy Steve; he just talks like that, it's weird
That is weird.)
[Verse 2: El-P]
Tune to "Hellemundo" for action packed blasphemy
Big city translate your face til it atrophy
I let the schadenfreude boy out actually
Deployed to void with grin to watch laughingly
(Yeah b*tch) Pass the P's it's a laugh in
I can smell the tragedy when hatchin'
Happily dispassionately patched in
Alive with the menace of demise
Like, "Yes!" the pain dazzles men, pass the popcorn
(Pass the popcorn) It's reality at it's fastest
And yet it still unravels at a pace like molasses
I guess the last of the seconds before the worst of disasters stretch past us
Wouldn't you agree that it is fabulous?
In the corridors of entropous wars contort drastically tilted fits
I adjust to climates of the wilderness
Walk along my spine take the pilgrimage
Up in to the section that's reserved for the smirk of the coldest witnesses
Work you motherf*ckers (hooray!), there's all day to die
Innovate the mayhem with grace
The good-form-fall, f*ck if I'mma warn y'all, nah
I got the front row to the greatest entertainment that an angel never saw
Sixty thousand watts of that raw
"Pull the claw out of the trunk" fun, each one teach one how to club one
Look at how they bathe up in the dove blood
It's gonna be a night of thrills and chills where the sacred is made of mud mud...
Each one teach one how to club one- popcorn, popcorn...
Each one teach one how to club one- popcorn... wouldn't you agree that it is fabulous?
(Yo honestly, if your man Steve really talks like that... uh, that's not really normal...
Yeah, that sucks... Yeah, it's pretty bad...
Nobody's voice should sound like that.)
[Verse 3: Aesop Rock]
It was a lazy day, it was amazing grace
It was a half-a-dozen claymores daisy-chained
It wasn't daisies and crazy
Eights, it was an ace of spades over a waiting game of slaves
And saints, and every trainee face-painted while his great
Escape grazed and ate
He'll never make it, when he aims he shakes
And I was overly engrossed from a very locked door
With a couple milk duds and buckets of popcorn
(Pass the popcorn) Clap clap, encore, monkey in the middle study
How the bunker took the missiles, age of machines with nary a green
Screen, so the hecatomb is every bit as cutty as it seems
I could tell the pet from the vet, money where his canine's spread
And never welched on a bet, that said, know the over-under
On your local hunter and you'll profit off his widow-maker's
Numbers every summer, bump in the night, funny, will he catch and release 'em?
Has he mercy, will he hack 'em to pieces?
Is he dirty, will he hassle policeman and security breach until impurities leak over the circuitry?
And nada milk and honey there is only skulls and bunnies
That hop around drunk in the land of a hundred Mondays
God damn, pop the Redenbacher proper and
For Christ's sake get this man a doctor!