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no. 1 st. - mike ladd lyrics

[verse 1]
throw up ? on no. 1 st
there’s something gory in my juice
but i’m still squeezin’, processin’ vernacular
speakin’ in spectacular dreams of my future
i’m as good as don quixote, smokin’ peyote
with a dead clan of hopi
but you can’t burn me in a teepee
watch me as i go pee pee on the holy nationality and greedy
i don’t hang at cb’s gallery, i play there
your the hare in the middle of the road
and i’m the buddweiser toad
i’m the troll below the bridge who eats goats
check my chin, i got blood in my beard
who’s got the h*rns of this deer?
i’m a bull fighter, but not right now
right now i deliever packages
but f*ck that sh*t, and all the ??
give me your head and i’ll show you what a ratchet is
is this jazz? this is s*m*n pizzazz
i’m martha graham, dancing about architecture
my mom was always down for lectures
super academic, quick with polemics
i wish i was a mechanic, bi*polar and manic
but still fixing souls like an engineer for chrystler
who spends his time with volvos
we all play solos in the bathroom
i’m in the math room, doing rudimentary equations
staging battles like life was risk
i drink the brisk tea and chill heavenly
landing on a bag of monchhichis
and can f*ck like cecil mcbee plays bass
this poem should land like a big tongue kiss lands on a cheeky face
*rs*nic and old lace will take me home
and i’m done with a microphone
[verse 2]
i smoke too much, i’ll die of asthma
but i still rock the stage like bettie page rocked the casbah
gonna go to law school just to be mean
sue marlboro for ten tons of afro sheen
when i shave my head i look like mr. clean
but i never had an earring, i got an oedipus complex
which is as complex as a serbian*bosnian war rear reflex
which is like a race of whites and blacks
breaking love on a bit of bl**dy rice chex
add a little salt and that sh*t’s a fat snack for the vaults of history
our great great grandchildren will eat you and me
into a wonderfully, harmoniously orchestrated bliss
is there anything i missed (nah)
i laugh at the ?? open page
take autographs, then make me a graph ?? too, yeah
smell the paper, save it to your saves in chemicals
my name is michael and i find nickels
if i was pregnant i’d eat icecream and pickels
if i was a libra i’d be fickle
if i wore platforms i should be shot, so
praise your soul for what you got [9x]

- mike ladd lyrics

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