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real forks - ghettori¢ lyrics

real forks lyrics
[verse 1]
i got real flatware forks for the whole ela crew
but if you use the motherf*ckers there’s some motherf*cking rules
there ain’t no strapped lucca bras’ with a gat to your back and some deal you can’t refuse
nor any other b*tch up in this joint suggesting you’re compelled to use
real silverware forks, stored conveniently by the sink
in a rainbow caddy amazoned at my expense after one too many drink
underneath two signs of clеar guidelines so you don’t nevеr need to think
to avoid sticking colleagues with your lunch break chores or your leftover stink
emanating from a motherf*cking fork growing fuzzier and brown–
bacteria caked in a yeasty breeding ground
i’m fair embarrassed to be forced to write this sh*t down
were we born in barns or suburbanized in town?
no teacher in dishwater ain’t never been drowned
so be a basin busy bee and don’t spray none of your sound
teacher, please, don’t tell me turn the frown upside*down;
only forestall the fungus or your name badge read
(“hi, my name is clown”)

[chorus]
the tragic commons, the drastic measures
the frantic strawmen, the manic pressure
on the hill with a cow and the here and the now
push the bass up to the edge of the elastic

[verse 2]
do that sh*t with soap – ain’t some b*tch*ass little rinse
there’s a nylon brush and some brillo pads, also procured at my expense
across the faucet from the dawn, so only if you’re dense
will you grad to that stradlater snark
(“no, really, you’re a real prince”)
if you don’t use a dishtowel you’s a visigothic bum
without full follow*through clean silverware don’t mean sh*t to me, son
don’t be throwing wet motherf*cking forks in a caddy of dry ones
yo! word to the ignorant: the dishtowel ain’t for your motherf*cking crumbs!
at which time the tines are toweled totally shall it be told
a flatware fork’s been flung into its queer*affirmative hold
but yo there’s still a final scene before the plot fully unfold:
hang the dishtowel wide, fan that motherf*cker so the sh*t don’t grow no mold
[interlude]
(i mean, really, what’s the use in washing the sh*t
if you’re gonna just dry it with a stank*ass towel?
should just be common sense, or at least common courtesy
but yo, people in groups. even the highly educated …)

[verse 3]
motherf*cker, i bequeathed a microwave to the ela break room:
800 watts to warm plastic pots of over*processed food
its heating speed assists greatly in ghosting teachers by high noon
but if you want to use the motherf*cker there’s some motherf*cking rules
if your beans go pop and you don’t drop mop then you just a little b*tch–
not in a s*xist sense but more unseemly and unearned privilege;
you lack the back to hack but got the sack to talk smack, sheltered by riches
so wipe the sh*t or i pipe your sh*t like the little b*tch you is
elbow grease and paper towel is really all you need
with that 409 assist if you need a little speed
but it gotta come when you done, immediately;
don’t let the sh*t sit ‘cause legumes clingy
the sh*t’ll rust to form a crust getting harder every day
but if you up against that cake i can be that rachel ray:
heat to boil an oven douche and the sh*t’ll wipe away
we shouldn’t need hazmat suits or edicts from the epa
to clean a motherf*cking microwave in motherf*cking may

[chorus]
the tragic commons, the drastic measures
the frantic strawmen, the manic pressure
on the hill with a cow and the here and the now
push the bass up to the edge of the elastic
[verse]
departmental tomes of tacit tact bee*keeping us in time
ticking metronomically to patterns, standards, and guidelines:
there ain’t no way to stay in the lane everyday, yo we all slip out of line
of all implicit ways to betray workmates, there’s only one true crime
if you’ve heard nothing in this joint to this point, teacher, please listen close to this:
the motherf*cking microwave is not for your motherf*cking fish
or your shrimp or your clam or your squid or other pescatarian dish
eat it cold and clean on a bed of leafy green and spare us your malice

[chorus]
the tragic commons, the drastic measures
the frantic strawmen, the manic pressure
on the hill with a cow and the here and the now
push the bass up to the edge of the elastic
pump the bass out to the edge of the elastic
bump the bass until the edge of the elastic
melt your face into the edge of the elastic
brain your sp*ce into the edge of the elastic

[outro]
(yo. word to the footnote: “douche” is used literally, not connotatively – as in equal parts vinegar and water… though i guess boiling makes vapor, not a jet. still, i don’t intend any negative associations, which reek of patriarchal insecurity. but i digress, anyway…
another thing, don’t be cutting in front… there’s a line and sh*t
and don’t be taking your sh*t out, stirring it, putting it back in like fifteen times
and don’t run the sh*t when the other microwave’s in use. that’ll blow the circuit
also, don’t ask how to set the sh*t to half*power. just push b*ttons ‘til you figure it out
i mean, a dozen teachers in the room . . . what the f*ck you expect to happen when you ask?
and yo, on the real, broccoli is just as bad as fish
think about it.)

- ghettori¢ lyrics

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