her Can tease me with a warm hors d'ouevre She slices and dices nicely Which has a way of enticing me Armed with an apron and spatula She is a post-modern
Stereotype Mono type Blood type Are you my type? Minimalism Abstract expressionism Post modernism Is it? We are the children of concrete and steel This
Making an appearance at the club tonight Playing some songs that I think are alright I'm not post-modern just a man who can bark And bite with teeth that
you think you rapping for? I used to be a mech soldier but I didn't respect orders I had to step forward, tell them this ain't for us Living in a post
of the aim of the ashes There is action in our architecture We are not damaged by design Carry on with your pre-death post-rock I'll be drinking with
moral balances and checks Summistes on high, rewriting texts Our æsculapian methods leave them all vexed Surgical aspirations, all dignified Post-modern
first blue light Of the beginning of a century at the end of an endless night Then she is wet behind the ears and wafting down the avenue Pre-rush hour, post
if the father we know is all that we are and everyone's hanging out down at the bar, the things that we love just bells on a post and everyone's ringing
is "the experts" the tryhards cant dance, but do dance anyways then they say tryhards, are kinda retarded but i wouldnt go that far, i shoudl mention for starters theyre modern
busting now. And I satisfy women like GER's, I advocate the destruction of SUV cars. I think Israel and Palestine should get along. I sampled Nine Inch Nails for this song. And I'm so post-modern
heads and fill them too But did the world really need another Blink 182 Stuck on this Earth like glue since 1982 Cooked up my own post modern salmagundi
But you can never, ever take away my space game I broke through the carbonite that's how I got free Jabba, back up, because there's no stopping me Post-modern
place Did we ever really exist? All we make is entertainment It's so damn easy and inescapable We're so post-modern, we're so post everything All we
her can tease me with a warm hors d'ouevre She slices and dices nicely which has a way of enticing me armed with an apron and spatula she is a post-modern
you be, would you be Happy to walk in my shoes? I'm already tired of your Chronic compassion fatigue The final turd in the dung heap Of every post-modern
a brother get the feelin' that he want to play cool You discombumberated, diabolical fool Hog-flesh MC, go play in the mud Another 20th century, modern