Thousand Words


The word of the day is right before you
Every word will sell every sentence and tissue
Every paragraph and organ the systems are chapters
That compose of body. (The body)
The body of writing like a body of water vast in deep
You’ll a quill your anchor for your oil tankers no longer sea worthy
I’d rather water walk
Who's the first n***a to sea walk to the moon?
What is sound system as is place of worship?
I make more noise when I sneeze, cough and croon
But I don’t expect 'em to attend my peace talks in June
Where I’ll read off the tomb of the head stones
Etch a sketch, epitaph wearing the head phones
And become a head rest for the steadfast
Who could never mesh or wear a flesh mask
Let alone be good better best to meet death last

The word of the day is
I give black flowers to my indie releases
And the people sitting for a half hour miniseries
With a good book Jesus on the TV guide
In light of this is a stern eagerness to take Nietzsche’s side
As an ongoing Easter egg hunt for the screen play of the month
Sucking the flesh sculpted rubber duckies screaming mother fuck me
Till they gut a monkey and get dead beneath our mother country
The word of the day is normal
You look rather peppy chum
Have you not been implanted with a personality Pentiums
The circles can be scrambled but the end beat drums
And the after life requiems
The drum pads are punching bags
Full of hourglass sand which one struck
And expostulates the past and future
You use to play patty cake with your math tutor
But now you jab the ruler in the power cord of the master computer
Saying the voices told you it was our last stand
And make the absolute power crash land
Oh no, Johnny's cracking up
Oh no, Johnny needs a head shrink
Oh no, its 'cause Johnny's a pervert who has wet dreams
But fear not we can get help jet streamed to him through the internet on the screen
We’ll make an upstanding citizen of him yet
The word of the day is
This record will not be played in this world, but when the world is dead
It's played in the astral plane where these flagpoles inflamed
And lays in a pearl bed
Where it's worshiped
By MC n*** peasants
Acting prepubescent
Under a bleeding moon crescent
I’m often asked what instrument do I play
I play the gaps between thought, thought that evacuates space
But it’s a fully orchestrated concert hall
And I'm never going back to touch base
To the four corners, four walls, four by four, free for all
Feeding frenzy
The word of the day is mind
You can't map the psyche on the mathematicians scratch paper
In me there's a Tarzan in a loin cloth and a taxpayer, tearing each other apart
Who overthrows who depends on a coin toss
Say your last prayer while you're alive and kicking the next minute you're fried chicken
Gross, overexposed mutated cell division
Do into a television sec
Given by the hell risen sex, ruling class
And you’ve heard of those who’ve held dinner with execs
But you’ve never get to smell the vinaigrettes
'Cause you haven’t accepted shmoozing as a craft
And opportunities are moving fast (where’d you go?)
You don’t mind do you (no)
To mine would be to take responsibility
But I'm sure I can borrow some of your integral traits
And throw them to the federal state
But is this his or her's? is this mine or yours or
It must not be hers 'cause her's you can buy in stores
And he keeps his behind doors, but this
This is some kind of Neolithic minosaur
Gazed upon by the minefield, field hands who prefer
And more inclined to kneel than stand
The word of the day is right before you
Silence
Is my dial-tone I collect call who you call god
With that freestyle that can redial all the smiles from home
Just play phone tag, trying to hear a song from me, and wrongfully immortalize stone slabs
I wrote this in a little room lined with white foam pads
Memorizing each line to a particular chord in the room
Or join in and eat away your depression with a fork and a spoon
I did it, barfed it up packaged it, gave it a marketing scheme
And now then titled it's own record company and insurance plan, separate from me
The world?
I mean the word of the day is lawful
My parents consider me a disappointment a complete failure
'Cause I fled from med school to be a drum-beat tailor
Hmm my sixth sense tells me the average clean cut ivy league pious family man feeds on the young behind the picket fence
Me I bellow songs till I'm tired and my tongues purple
And office spaces that have been turned into bonfires and drum circles
Doing interpretative dances on a mouse pad
And get reprimanded by the supervisor and his mode of pimp strolls
Infuriated at this cursor blimp
Extracting truth from the swollen lymph nodes
On a loathing minstrels
Wearing Jesus Christ sneakers, air JC’s with holes in the insoles
Holes in the insoles!
As we speak there’s a n***a doing kapha wear Angola
With a cool grin besides a can of soda
Meeting all demands and quotas from a studio audience
As of right now I know that I’m one of god’s fresh bookers
On a job hunt to win the hand of a soft fresh hooker
And seek happiness in processed sugars
The word of the day is
I suppress anger then appear on stage and dress for strangers
Flashing my naked drum from my trench coat
Burn shit out of my native tongue drenched and soaked in cow blood
Hecklers snicker and joke with their pals and buds
Well, make yourself known
All you’ll see is dead smoke then hear a loud thud
Your style sucks
Yeah sure this style’s crud
But at least I know how to love
At least I know that in aiding my melancholy rhyming’s just a mild jug
A pain reliever, a brain teaser, a fake hint to a brand new scheme
This whole time you’ve been listening to an answering machine
At the sound of the beep you won’t know whether to laugh or scream
But you’ll know that you’re afraid of the deep end of the pool
And n***a I skinny dip then put it on MiniDisc and there’s no cancer in the stream
Yes, but the word of the day is happy
I'm so happy right now
I'm so happy to be recording this song
And you’re very happy and this is the end of the song
Yes we are approaching the near end
And don’t you even fear of your rear end for it will not be saved in the afterlife
Be very happy, the word of the day is happy
The word of the day is rejoice
The word of the day is 99 cents off any afterlife purchase made after this point
The word of the day is, the word of the day is—is, uh, melancholy
The word of the day is Al Gore
The word of the day is style galore
The word of the day is you