I like to creep in the night But I speak under my breath to be polite I'm talking about you Unconspicuous keep killing that sweet feeling The mystique's building I only speak to the freakishly sheep children For some cheap thrill thing I'll be willing to make purchases on my credit card As long as its of discrete billing I am expected to get murdered by bombs So I open up my mailbox with surgical tongs Rubbing antibacterial paste on my virginal palms Let me guess the littlest complex in Oedipus works for my momz I've heard of the song by the guy What's his face who say's those things I think its called ambiguity I'm heading to the labratory To prove the skin color of Jesus Christ is gray Impressionable minds have nothing even nice to say Your brain is putty in my hands My man it seems just like some clay I'll take my time to rearrange You'll want to be the Sage wait in line With the rest of them grape vines You ain't busting no grape and making wine You ain't duplicating my rhyming bitch I'm older and dirtier than that bastard baby Jesus is Masterbating penises in a alley way where she just is Thinking that's enough and it is Is the way these asinine kids imply that they are dead I won't steer you wrong