[Intro]
Yeah, yo, yeah, ooh, okay like, yeah, alright

[Verse]
Decapitated quatrains of bodies of huddled masses
As the living plot device tugs and pulls and becomes flaccid
Private screen to the incognito tab
Incorporated into the big data morass
Slogging in dialogue, well maybe that’s canned
Capital H. Brown of this, of this mumble rap
Well, past the scantron on
The standardized paper bags
Over post-war plastic
Autotuned to can-can
Dancing flappers
Putt for the 18th hole
No blacks, no jews
No gods, no masters
Track’s miscegenated
Hardware compression on top of the track, like

[Chorus]
I got the master fader on speed dial, yeah
I got the master fader on speed dial, yeah
I got the master fader on speed dial, yeah
I got the master fader on speed dial, yeah
I got the master fader on speed dial
I got the master fader on speed dial
I got the master fader on speed dial
[Outro]
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