Force fed more than we eat in the wild
Grazed on a mash that can suffocate a child
Bloated, promoted in an ode to pomped style
Moistened in the feed while we’re choke upon the bile
Corner in the market on the geese without the bones
Hushing out the public in a strike without a drone
The cage became collapsable
Our sticks equipped with stones

Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone
Hello motherfucker
My lover
You saw it coming
Set aside the scruples in a stratagem of strain
A smallpox-laden blanket, invisible with stains

Inoculated bastards, bloody pecked pain
Distemper has a hold, distemper has a hold
We took a second sip from a cup we made of bones
The first it was a ruse, a trick so aptly thrown
The truth is that our youth was a carpet laid with stones
Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone

Hello motherfucker
My lover
You saw it coming
Goodbye motherfucker
My lover
You had it coming
Get the mother fucker on the phone