which has become in recent years the particularly fashionable form of idiocy among the self-styled intellectual. we find that people who deplore the level Rrent popular
heads on the blocks With locks and baggie jeans, the whole scene was fond to 'em And how we got the labels kissing our hind parts We desired art and never
popular culture I face the microphone and fumble in my pockets for a change A break from the deranged world of [Incomprehensible] Plotting out the death of art
Witless, humorous conversatoin Has filled me up like an old gas station I'm wallowing in a pool of gasoline Self appointed sherrif of a popular ghostown
looter, user and abuser She's a big shot. Your eyes are glued to her behind You know her steeze, but you fall for it every time Now, what about that popular
I could vividly recall my mood the day that art was murdered The wind blew a thin layer of dust on my garden bird Everything you knew was sideways and
don't you just hang yourself if your life's so fuckin' miserable Get the fuck outta here you faggot and stop complaining how makin' art is a distress
me hit it, yo, let me hear ya say ho You may need a translation for the knowledge that goes Over the peoples heads in the population Spookdom agency
rush the stage just to blaze Glorify your glamor and gorers just to faze Cuttin' down the rain forest for cows just to graze It's killin' the populous
Tell me is love still a popular suggestion Or merely an obsolete art? Forgive me for asking, this simple question I'm unfamiliar with this part I am a
problematic art of conversation. So I watch the prince and princesses of prose Pissing in pockets everyday And it only makes me think of oscar wilde And the fickleness of pop, Popularity
Of every race and creed Upon the surface... billions of ovum A practiced art of breeding feces Germinate Cultivate Impregnate Populate Saturate Procreate
I could make the seas part I cross the train tracks and hear an outcry Like why is the ghetto always on the southside Skeptics will understand the art
be kidding Man, some of ya'll treat art like it was some sort of religion Following the rules one two and on through To the point you don't create art Art
like cruise control speed Satisfy my lyrical semen, plants my Johnny Apple-seed Mental slave grip on your brain like white people My music will dominate the population
in a flood of static We washed our hands, disguised the bruise And I should have known we'd never do it Never see humanity as some screwball work of art
extract the information, they found it utterly amazing // They claimed the body of his work was the same thing as a priceless painting // Never mattered to him the art
two Put out the second one and I can still see you I affect your chemistry and macro molecules Cells and groups of cells called tissues Organs, organ systems, organism Population