The Press Lyrics - Pig

It's a barrage of violence, sickness and shame 

You struggle for your living and you're paying with pain 

I read of the poor, and the women and the victims to blame 

For the collapse of the country again and again 

They're checking all the people 

In all their holes 

Whips and lashes and cuts back 

To double standards, backhanders 

It's a grey desolate country 

But we're glorious again 

He's peeling his banana while roasting your nuts 

You've got to get your gums around his plums 

He's going to modify your attitude 

And customize your crawl 

With the muck he prints 

He's got to us all 

Peoria 

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I met her in Peoria 

250 lbs. of flabby harlot woman flesh 

Is wobbling around the hotel room, farting 

Mucus is dripping from her pig-hole nostrils into her mouth 

Nah, streaming 

Steaming, streaming great green rivulet 

Her tounge makes sure no leftover chunks go astray, miss their mark 

Mom I mean buisness 

Put your finger on the button 

Yeah, will do 

Just let me finish this page 

I said (hog call) 

Sticky, sticky, sticky, sticky, sticky 

Tounge's feeling dry, swollen up like a pocket full of lint inclusive 

Know what I mean 

Know what I mean 

Know what I mean 

Failing that, the falling fat 

Crack another six pack and get on with the job at hand 

Many hands make light work 

But makes palms broth 

Fists flying and slipping into hole after hole after hole after heat 

Hey, she buys cayenneby the quart 

Filled up to the elbow bone, fried up to the joint 

Filed at the shin, skin hanging off in sheets and shards 

You do this shit for a living 

Those grimey, greasy pores exuding their slimy mixture of filth and puss 

In little white whorled pustules 

Every time she smiles that yellow, shit-eating grin 

That shit-eating grin 

Christ, she was beautiful 

Photos