The smell of wet wheat and shit
The jagged paths of the rivulets
Through the dust outside of the window mixed
With the powered din of a motocar trip
Is distilled in one hit on the drum
A drum that's been tuned with
A trickster's tongue and the head is from
Skin of the electrician
Inside are strange birds, still and unstirred
To dampen reverberation
You play it with this, the bone of a fish
That was a pet when you were young
This ain't no nostalgia trip
This is real shit on the electric tip
I was slingin' way more juice than that idiot
Who pulled that shit with the elephant
And my arc's range puts lil Nik's to shame
Not only that but it
Trips a switch of sensory bliss
Something like a glissando
Of breeze rushing through trees
A scree of entropy
Complete the circuit with a bit of spit
And pay your 50 as you leave
supported by 4 fans who also own “The Electrician”
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