Wrap it up in Fear of God,
Helmut Lang, Supreme
Shit it in a bowl
To make me scream
Then weigh the gold
Just give it all up
All your most gory,
Gawdy, bawdy stuff
And let the common feed
Please give us what we need
And we’ll give you needless accolades
To fill your half full ego cup
Until we find another source
A stronger pull on our goldfish attention
Continuing convention with the fall
When you refuse to stay our course
The one that got our popularity vote
And left your letchy lovers hoarse
It’s about now you’ll know
That you never were a God
So you’ll hang, no scream
Gold plated shit in the snow
No need to feel squeamish
It’s how I wanted to go
A generations nostalgia
Will hold me over
For a little longer than most
I’ve got a haunt
Now I’m a ghost
Don’t say I never told ya
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