Lyrics Kiss the Cook - Aesop Rock , Blockhead

I puke a worm in your mouth, I punch a hole in the screen,
I hold my nuts when I rap, I throw my phone in the sea,
Notice the woefully unfrozen mosey up out of Cocytus, dap his homie,
Check his vitals, swat a bogie til he spirals,
The golden oldie miners hack a nugget out the river dance,
Press it to the boogie break, dress it up in pentagrams, wookie face,
Look, I don't panic in the fray,
I broadcast all black magick with a "
K", K?
Late to his own selfies, the belly is King Hippo, the M.
O.
Is Van Helsing, the hello is from a portrait of abhorrent man
Melting, spells out "help" in his canned corn helping,
And never pushed mongo, back foot kicking out the larval stage,
Front foot navigate the marble maze,
Blues crooners off the usual at Hooters,
Drag a Liliputian kicking and screaming into the future
I wrote this eating tekka maki off a naked lady,
In a questionable wardrobe for which you can blame the 80s,
A reference to his adolescent days in basic training,
Way before devolving into self-deluded naval-gazing, ummm,
Wakey wakey, jaded makers of the achey-breaky heart, feign valor,
Brain matter wading though the mason jar,
Stare at the sun 'til he bay at the moon, s
Hare crumbs with the drums 'til he lay in the tomb, vroom,
Cold roll up on a very clean easel,
Turn a landscape into unspeakable evil, eek,
It's un-freaking-believable, freakish over fitting in,
Voices in his head that beleaguer the equilibrium, sit down Waldo,
His form is barely functional, messenger of death,
Professionally uncomfortable,
And I don't always push all my convictions thru the Neumann
But you people still defending the police are fucking poison
Blood vessel in his eye all fucked up,
From holding up the sky all "nyuck nyuck",
My wires all criss-crossed, I'm equally happy to rap or get lost,
Old cro-mag throwing scraps at the sled dogs, yes y'all,
Death hawking his distress call,
Horse fly backstroking through the bread bowl, bedsores, bad hair,
Raised on bad news, make bad songs you could twirl a bad 'stache to,
Nanu Nanu, styles like wild javelinas stampeding over Bob Dobalinas,
With a boomerang, bow, slingshot and ocarina, rock shock,
Not the property of any knocking reaper, all these posers,
Aggie and unchauffeured,
Came to the party like a pox on the
Culture, flip the rook, kiss the cook