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sage francis - underbite ben finds god spoken word (03) كلمات الأغنية

i remember once i found god. he was so happy. i found
him in
the card catalog at the public library. n-body looks
there
anymore. thanks to duey decimal i found him. feasting
on his
manhood just to stay alive. he could have feasted off
that
monster for centuries. serious, he was hung like this.
you
figure finding god might win you automatic entry into
h-llven but no. i have to fool myself there, just like
everybody else. then i said, “ah, can i get three
wishes?!”
“i’m not that kind of god”, he said. he did teach me
sign
language so i wouldn’t have to fog up my mirror with
these
long winded self-evaluations every morning. “look at
you,
concave man.” you know what concave means? we have a
young
crowd. it means i have an innie instead of an outie.
the
best thing about being concave, besides having your
b-lls
look so huge and out of place, it’s the midgets. they
crawl
inside and paint pictures on the wall. a little person
died
there once. that’s what i mean when i mention the
ghosts.
i’m haunted, down there. welcome to my world. it’s a
world
where all the well endowed animals of this planet
simultaneously die from a horrible case of womb envy.
it’s a
world where natalie portman stalks me, and she’s still
14,
and it’s ok, ’cause it’s my world baby. it’s a world
where
when you multiply a negative number by a negative
number,
you don’t get a positive number, you get a bigger
negative
number! and i don’t have to -beatboxes- to keep you
interested. mommies don’t die, she never left me, and
there’s not dark sweat marks where my f-cking heart
should
be. when i fly, it’s first cl-ss b-tch. all they serve
is
vegetarian meals on my flight. the guy on the side of
me’s
p-ssed. “excuse me. please check the back, see if you
got
one with chicken in it maybe? maybe someone could get
me
chicken.” “i’m sorry sir, you gotta call forty-eight
hours
ahead of time to get your meat meal.” he’s none too
pleased,
so he calls me on his cellphone, to tell me about his,
superbowl show! i don’t know! wanna flow? go to go. toe
to
toe. i don’t rock polo. he gets bombarded by all these
public service announcments that let him know, “you
supported terrorism by paying taxes and driving all
over the
place, you could have just f-cking walked down the
street.”
fact! and i laughed, all the way to the sperm banks,
soccer
mom. haha, it’s not my world, it’s his. the big white
guy in
the sky. i’m stuck down here, lookin’ into my foggy
mirror,
peering into my concave, practicing my math on all you
poor
aborted fetus’s. reminding myself how far away i am
from
god. i chopped off my d-ck, shoved it into my -sshole,
and
smuggled it out of the country, for you!!!

- sage francis

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