Attaboy

(álbum: Spirit World Field Guide - 2020)

Hi everybody, hope you're doing well
Today I want to talk to you about the different levels of the spirit world

I been floating down the River Styx
Skipper cap, sipping on what's missing from your mini-fridge
Insulated slicker dripping, winter like, "It's Britney, bitch"
Crops wither, docks splinter into popsicle sticks
Beyond the hissy fit, he ain't but a hound dog
I'm Bamm-Bamm, pianos fall on me and bounce off
Vampyrella riding pillion through the eventide
Indecency that deck the halls, an eye in each Venetian blind
I'm meat into the Venus fly, ears back and hackles up
Shifting with the shadow play, I show 'em how to rabbit hunt
It helps if you're particularly paranoid
Enough to know there's no such thing as an extraction point
Attaboy, I'm a sucker for stolen bases
Bathing in open ocean and shaving in Mobil stations
Away from the hocus pocus
The nauseating social codes and motives
The homies demoted to interlopers
Look, I can help you tumble through the galaxy
Somersaulting backwards into vacuous finality
Shabby chic, overnight a fireball from magic camp
Inspired by a banzai fly into Manhattan clam
No hands, pissing off the ferry, mission-ready
The flesh and blood are present while the rest is vision-questing
Plugged in, gloves off, shushing all tough talk
Nowhere to be found at the trust fall
I'm saying "fuck y'all", live and direct
I make a Judas shoot a flare up from the Isle of the Dead
I got a network in the netherworld I seldom reveal
It get a threat to get to stepping out my energy field
Behold the nobody who show up uninvited like his 'chute failed
Blue streak, speak in minor pentatonic blues scale
Doors blast open for the never not backlit
Never not eradicating pathogens
Rat catcher, capture both the flag and the bannermen
Batter up, throw a badass to the basilisk
Throw a fucking crab off a mountain top
Free freefalling with the shuttle parts and flowerpots
Odd hours, I'm up with the spotted owls
Spot a coward in the commons how he spot a common mouse
At a half mile, last-minute mohawk
Eyes closed, ear to the road salt, all I hear is Mozart
Gale force winds whipping through your floppy hat
Glitch in the hologram, trick any polygraph
Chocolate from the faucet, fish in the lava lamp
Sofa on the ceiling only come down for karate class
I'm in pajama bottoms listening to Chaka Khan
Eating matcha Pocky knocking posses out the polygon
I see you proper hobnobbing with the la-di-da
That kind of shit is simply not the way I pop and lock