Dead Pan Lyrics - Aesop Rock

This be the dawning of the age of dead water 

Stitchin every b-boy fragment [stationary] 

Somebody live enough to bust through the belly with a fist up 

This is a right now generation murdered by the fan base 

This is adored by the writers-Dead water 

With a still force activated 

No I'm not feelin alright 

Formed by the village of badness and bad karma 

Punched by the stagnant water gate threw the wibbo back 

But by the window's still three nickels in a piggy bank 

Caught her with her head up funny stomach from the hunger pains 

Flashed automatic b-boy with big visions 

In a matchbox apartment adjacent a crooked starship 

doomed better nation the million's the only remedy 

Nine dizzy planets with a bullet riding centerpiece 

Take Me Through The Gates ((i'm) through the gates) 

I'm bout as sick of burning find the hottest slacker in a visionary costume 

Con artist kamikaze conduct 

Warm for a second to the minute he whored herself to disaster 

I recognize the cankers by the mechanical stagger 

As opposed to the skip of big brother bad slasher 

Theologies who need to keep the cookies caffeinated 

like a mad hatter that'll sleep now, ask after 

Calibrate the happyscale-when he's soakin 

wet with a mouthful of dead ideas and see ifwho tipped zero 

Stripped ego, tall stories of broad glory 

I'll be god while you're still living life on a full 40 

Or maybe I'll be grimacing home, poor, broke and lonely 

Hidden by my billygoat beard and cardboard monstrosity 

I drink a bad glass of gumption 

Not bad meaning bad, but (bad) meaning disgusting 

Wildchild activater activate sludge enough to dungeon for a accolade and now wild ones 

I committed wild murder, went through the city 

with a wild merger, woke up in a wildstyle burner 

Space case, boom box, hate tapes, no lemonade breaks (zsweat), no cheddar in labor days 

Right now, im here to break a point of big/bitch system plus my screen 

I was never cursed in a russmeyer bixon 

Spit sob stories to confront my dick addictions 

Of the dirty basement at the graves of Salem witches 

Driving my stake through the face of painstaking business (dead bait/checkmate) 

But I scream Misery (better breath take) 

Out of sleep, lifted up lobotomy, little Jackie paper 

and a magic dragon sack of dirty shrubbery 

I'll be the ugliest version of paranoia 

kingpin set in motion by the secondhand pressure 

Some get excited when the sun folds under 

Some get excited when the summer hits the pavement 

Some get excited when the bullets hits bone and a board 

I'll escape through the train yard and sleep till it's broken 

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[same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [same old] [stay alert] [city ark] [city ark] 

This be the settling of debt of warm water 

A mobile b-boy function [immobile] 

Somebody mad enough to cut apart the curtain with a fist up 

This is the dagger in the 88 magnificent memorial 

This is the heater to a movement 

dead water 

When I broke fifth thousand sparks 

No I'm not feelin alright 

This be the windshear dodgin dead water 

Solitary b-boy wonder 

Somebody fresh enough to reinvent the court with a fist up 

This is the funky outline around a classic breakbeat 

This is an agitated moment- 

Photos 

dead water 

With a burnt future, beaten, ugly 

No I'm not feelin' alright