god tongue (an epistle on taste) - alabaster samovars lyrics
misty in the biscuit-tinted fisker
miss me with that sh-t that isn’t glistening or whiskered
risky, what the business is
wrist is a chameleon
mister mephistophelian, but feel a little crisper
ain’t a myth in which i’m not a fixture
espada shifter, trader vic colada sipper
slip your sister a tawdry whisper..
you got the picture…
whipping something with the trunk in the front
slump gave me something skunky to accompany lunch
with a bunsen, i lit up
blunts in abundance, and hit up
huntsman in london to pick up a little something to stunt
i got the tongue you can trust
most don’t talk about it
guillotine a beat and bow it down, gouts fountain out it
dressed like eddie hayes; my machete blades never break
sprinkle game every day
yeah, i got the dried pheasant garnish
get up on my level, cop the bezel with the garnets
neck and wrist drip like pen and pixel sent a missile in
my pen is listed in the michelin
fifty on the ink i’ve written this epistle in
slick as glycerin up in the nib, i’m glistening
blistering
dismiss ’em with iridium
slip into the chrysalis and dip
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