Meanwhile, back at the command central circus,
Doctors are exposing a man's ventral surface to a medicated agent
To purify the soul of this dedicated patient,
Laying on the nekked table.
He works for a record label and wears sandals with tube socks,
We got him tied face down, hooked up to the fuse box
With insulated cables. ambulances cruise blocks
To find any kind of volunteers and crack addicts that attracts static.
It's to determine how the effects of famine delays aggression,
And we tantalize 'em with salmon fillets
And analyze the results in a bowl that's glass,
We've placed the brain and it smells like a poll cat's ass.
We take a group of MCs that are a run of the mill,
If the first one doesn't survive, probably one of them will,
The odds are, is to figure out how much the others need
To first readjust the focus and then to change the shudder speed.
It's the ultimate procedure that we use to determine rank,
We got a state of the art computer system and access to a Sherman tank.
You shouldn't be afraid to ask, we cut 'em with a blade of grass,
You need a certain grade to pass or else you will be laid to pass.
Then we take a duo or a group and a loaf of bread
And we let them attack one another until both are dead.
Two copies for the DJ to, uh, break it on the cartridge,
But if the record skips, he'll have to take it on the arches.
I got private plans for the saliva glands.
