Lots of juicy fruit pies Cool baby blue streaks wrestle as the stream burrows The green that I'm submerged in is unnamable A womb, a mother, creation, a toilet What's next? Volcanoes ejaculating into their sister's collected moisture Melted minerals become rocks when land is to blame Blame Eve the sleeve A seed is likely to land hard But whose to say if it will grow and remain? Surely not my brother Cain Grey clouds jostle electricity's handle And play Prometheus's favorite livered song Within that light In fire Our fears weren't quite as long as that cock's crow Stories were told over some plain animal's carcass No buzzards at this shaman's brainwashing Introduce the hallucinogen In some root In some fungus In some cactus In some tree's bark In some potion prepared before dark In the toilet's swirl You are the great Poo-dini The creation theme plays behind my mind's bathroom mirror The audience is grouping together To form cliques Labels to be stereotyped then hooker hyped Bringing along the unwarranted criticism Behold A five foot tall Amazon Indian (Putamayo tribe) Laid out naked With blood streaming from his nose His dick still grows As I may still decipher the boundaries Between my highs and lows. So it was me and Jesus Then in came Lucifer One tea bag (for baggin') And six sugar cubes No cups "Up to your garage sale antics again my fair faced fallen accuser?" Satan blows me a kiss Flips Jesus off Turns the six sugar cubes Into my grandma's broken Elvis collectable plate (the Blue Hawaii one) And tosses Jesus a bent dime He then tells me to, "stick to my rhyme". And never drink Tequila (with a whore, your mom, or a priest) Without a lemon, or a lime Oh, and drink sprite it's cool and hip and refreshing Don't you see the signs? Well, that's fine and dandy and all But where's the lock on this bathroom stall? The toilet is God Satan's the seat Jesus becomes the paper That keeps my ass neat.