Exquisite Corpse Lyrics - Dumbfoundead

Have you ever seen a corpse? 

How about an exquisite one? 

Think about Frankenstein's monster 

Now think about fun 

You're getting it, good! 

Johnny starts with a leg. I sew on an arm. 

Then you lend a hand 

We each add our piece 

Now, what kind of beast have we made? 

Let's find out! 

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I woke up Sunday to a bloodshot sky 

Robot overlords goose step by 

Shoulda listened when we had the juice to try 

And Bill the Science Guy told us that "the end is nigh!" 

Lately it's been getting harder to 

Survive, since the Hive started to 

Ban American refugees from being a damn part of the 

People's Republic of Antarctica 

A bum begged me for a bill he could borrow 

Babbling some shit about "there's still a tomorrow" 

He said that "legend has it, there's still a Baja Grill and a Sbarro 

At the top of Mount Kilimanjaro" 

And so desperate, I set off from the deserts out in Portland 

Until my thirsty horse collapsed in the scorched sand 

I promised to myself heart and soul 

I'd crawl across this dead world for those garlic rolls 

Photos 

Yo, kid, let go of the dead horse 

Stop crying, need a ride? Hop in my red Porsche 

Eat something homie, you look bony and frail 

Now why the hell would you take the Oregon Trail? 

Remember back in grade school, that stupid computer game? 

You shoulda known better, now there's no one but you to blame 

Dying of dysentery, don't climb to the enemy 

I'ma take you underground where the hive resistance be 

Apparently a colony of people are out there 

A garden full of veggies, even garlic they sprout there 

Leader General Bieber who be running shit down there 

Found a way to end the drought, bring out the swimwear 

Soon as we pulled up we heard drilling noises 

Children started dancing, even grown folk joined in 

Like a hydrant in the Bronx, water shot up in the air 

But was boiling and as hot as solar flares 

Ooowee, ain't that a bitch? 

Nobody believed it til the first wave hit 

The ground started shaking and the sky went red 

(Mayday! Atlanta's been lost, Justin Bieber is dead) 

No! God damn, another one down 

Colonies of people living under the ground 

Rallied against the clowns, a resistance was born 

They fight for mankind and the existence of porn (let's go!) 

Back on the surface life eaters 

Avoiding wild packs of North American beavers 

Creepers and face feeders 

Fearing the great reaper 

You're either gonna get eaten or beat with a pay meter 

This is real shit homie, dog eat dog 

More like robot clown eats man and whole squad 

Graffiti on the wall says "there is no god" 

But there is still homemade vodka, and that's cool 

Homemade vodka, pour a shot up then I swill it 

I'm the only person left who remembers how to distill it 

It's the most popular product in the underground economy 

So I'm the most popular person in my underground colony 

All the resistance leaders they throw shots down 

In my bar after they fight the robot clowns 

As of late they've been stressed and depressed 

Cause the chances of us winning are becoming less and less 

We lost the captain of the human army 

Morale is really low and a lot of people are starving 

I'm still wondering how this all happened 

Is this even real or am I just on acid? 

The clowns are advancing down 

I use the word "down" cause they're coming underground 

Wait—what's that sound? It's kinda loud 

Holy shit! There they are right now! 

Calm down soldier, this is no time to be a fink 

We can beat these clowns, okay, we just need to think 

I've lost ten men this week, I can't sleep a wink 

But this the last place on earth a guy can get a decent drink 

So darned if we lose this bar to those useless zombie bastards 

I'd rather starve than be boozeless 

So I put barbed wire slabs on the fences 

That should buy us some time to plan our defenses 

Pick up the chairs and trash cans off the floor 

Stack em up on the front door to jam up the entrance 

Ain't got grenades but we still might be saved 

I just found fifty diet coke cans and some breath mints 

Fill the trash cans to the brim with the cola 

When the robots break in, toss the mints in the soda 

See the blast won't hurt em but it'll get em wet certainly 

It'll mess up their wiring and disrupt their circuitry 

If it don't work though, my next plan cannot fail 

We drink the vodka—shot after shot til we're too drunk to feel pain 

Spark up a flame and turn the bottles that remain into Molotov cocktails 

I've had it with you clowns, I've reached my limit 

You may have killed my captain, but I'm the lieutenant 

And I won't let you terrorize us, wait just a minute 

That ain't no robot zombie, man, what the hell is it?! 

Adam! Ahhh! I didn't mean to scare ya 

Dude, that's not a robot, it's just Iggy Azalea 

Musta hid up in the bar to learn about who we are 

Then report back to the captain of the folks attackin my favorite rap stars 

Oh shit, quick! Hit her with some fuckin duck-tape 

She came to sing-rap & give us all some undercut fades 

Lo-fi beats transmittin telepathic autotune 

Help! She's inside my head and I don't think I am immune 

Been repo-d, I think I'm in deep I am weeping at the seams 

Forfeiting my dreams of keepin the streets G code 

Only way to outrun it is doublin up on the track 

Any and everyone get up and meddle mean it 

Just puttin the pedal into it 

Now we taking over the tempo and tunin' it 

Never gone let a lesser lemon ruin it, so I'm inducing it 

Doomin em all, I'm undoin it, deuces I'm dippin 

Who comin with the kid? I'm out 

Headed to the dojo, Diggs got pistols hidden in his fro though 

These robots think we're bitch, Diggs, gimme some loko 

And let me borrow your Jefferson robe bro, I'm goin postal 

Bay boys 'bout to put this barrel into some fuckin blowholes 

Whoa whoa whoa, hold up cash 

You see I'm trimming my mustache up 

I heard all these newly brainwashed rap chicks are really down to fuck 

I comb the pistols out the fro and they're sitting on the table 

And there's two cheesesteaks out in a fully gassed up LeSabre 

I'm ready to ride on these haters, let's go 

But you better drive cause you already know 

That apocalypse or not when I'm behind the wheel my black ass is sure 

Enough gonna get stopped 

And we ain't got the time and the tags are expired 

You know how it is, I am really not trying to die today, by cop or by a geek robot 

Whoa, stop, lemme bottle up this kombucha I've been brewing on the back porch 

Grab the backpack out the closet, it's got all of our passports 

I've been planning this for a minute, seen the writing on the walls 

If we survive and find a civilization they've got to know who we are 

First we swoop us Chinaka in case we need some muscle 

Or some reason, or anything other than our indiscriminate hustle 

Then we roll through the hood real slow bumping something all of these monsters know 

Like a Watsky song? Lo and behold, they'll follow our car wherever we go 

Let's lead em out to Napa and let em gentrify that bitch up 

Start the car—no, homie—we are not stopping for any swishers 

Or a McFlurry, blood there's no time for that shit 

Hold up, there go Nak right there, pull over 

Ayo Nak, Ayo Nak, get in the car! 

Ay Raf get back seat 

Make room for ya fam, friends 

I'll give you this McShake and the end of my Hansen 

Now what the fuck you talking it's the end of the world? 

I been on Pinterest tending to the end of my curls 

I mean the sky is always purple, people running on vapors 

I mean the Tribune been gone, I ain't gon read it in the papers 

Nothing's all that different, been the same for black women 

When apocalyptic breakfast follows revelation dinners 

The lights been out, the water smelling of flint 

Exquisite corpses laying where the bodies had been 

No bombs over Baghdad, just drones with grenades 

When life gives us citrus we learn to drop Lemonade 

So okay fellas shall we get in formation? 

Bump some pied piper R up out the trunk this scraper 

Do the end of the world styling in our fitteds and gators 

Lure these stupid mufuckas on a goose chase 

Use whatever's already up in my suitcase 

I got a whole jones for this open road 

And my flow so cold we don't need AC 

I popped fo' no doze, I'll read this formal prose 

Bet you Butler knows how to make us free 

A Lauren Olamina in Trumped up world 

A black magic woman still being called girl 

But the only constant is change holmes 

So let's get the supplies and leave up out our bay homes 

Got the earthquake kit and six gallons of gas 

Got Diggs in the driver and Raf in the back 

Got this passenger seat and the last of these sweets 

Go north Daveed, just gun it til wine country 

Do it moving fluid like turfin with iDummy 

It's the bay moves we learned as natives gon keep us safe 

It's the forty water water and an instrumental tape, let's go 

They'll get tired behind us 

I mean half of em hybrid but most of them wind-ups 

We got nothing but power we got nothing but time 

I got Kwudi's new beats and Music of My Mind 

Nothing left in Napa but the scent of the grapes 

No palate-cleansing tapas for discriminate taste 

Nothing left in Calistoga but one popped bubble 

We got just two dudes and just one Nak, trouble 

Like how the hell we repopulate humanity 

The two of y'all and me that's like actual insanity 

Like eww, that's really gross guys 

It's like, not Diggs, and not Rafa 

Not nobody else, just doing it styling in wine country with nothing else 

Red red wine, I don't want to die! 

I hum under my breath as I fight death in the quiet depths of the bunker 

I was confounded when I came to after Dumbfoundead 

Brought me to the battered base underground where we hunkered down the summer 

But then winter came and the flame that we tended to flickered to nothing 

And the few of us living resorted to burning cadavers like tinder and lumber 

We bickered bitterly and our wickedness hit a peak in our hunger 

Sickened we hunted each other 

Pickpocketed the weak and we plundered 

A visitor from the surface stole a garlic roll from Dave and Busters 

And I butchered the buster in his sleep just to lick his fingers for butter 

But it kind of gave me indigestion I confess and the pipes ruptured from my dung 

Lungs punctured when Dumb stuck me with the sharped end of my plunger 

Now it's me and Grieves in a shallow grave 

Next to J Biebs and Azalea's pale humungous butt 

That I rest my head upon for my perpetual slumber 

We frail and wretched kvetch and wail 

It's curtains, my days are numbered 

And I'm numb to pain, yet one remaining certainty gives me comfort 

I made a living yelling my opinions loudly 

Thinking I might matter if I drew a crowd, see 

Now, my lily cheek on Iggy's chilly cheeks I finally see the future will be fine 

Without me 

Nothing is entitled to be mine 

I'm a token of a broken time 

And maybe there's survivors on the surface in LeSabres working on 

Tomorrow sipping red, red wine