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letra de wakjakaga - mc frontalot

yo, if your parents hear you listening to this, they’re going to frown
they’ll be like, “our babysitter frontalot’s letting us down.”
in fact, i bet it’s around now that their ears perk up
already poised to disengage the circuit
wakjąkága was not exactly a man
more like the demiurge than a demigod, if you understand
and if you don’t, let me just say he’s a bit of a fool:
sort of a jester, but also a simpleton too
he wandered the forest in search of some food
a couple duck carc-sses (of which he approved)
dripping with fat, sizzle in his campfire
wakjąkága gets bored of cooking, gets tired
gets comfy, warming his back at the hearth
though it’s pretty early, he’s not the only creature on the earth
there’s foxes. they’d like a duck dinner too
brown eye detective agency got interviewed

keep an eye out!
wakjąkága‘s booty-b-tt
should’ve paid attention

there were no other applicants. the booty’s on lookout
can only po at interlopers, hard to guard the cook-out
wakjąkága woke up and he stretched
reached for his dinner: nothing but bones left
his booty was stone deaf to recrimination and censure
one duty, shirked, leaving trust in contention
and wakjąkága, so stern with his underling
stabbed it where you or i would wear underthings
with a sharp stick that happened to be on fire
as proper punishment for its failing to keep its eye out
satisfied with this discipline, he went about his way
still with his tummy grumbling and dismayed
hope before it’s too late, he could find a tidbit
what should he happen upon but an unattended
sizzling strip of the fat that he’d savored before?
he gobbled it and ambled along, imagining more

o cornucopia! the world’s older brother here
keeps on discovering, discarded everywhere
just what he’s looking for: the most delicious
fresh-cooked dishes. seems a bit suspicious…
someone just littering hot meat? yo, hold up
you’re walking in a circle, wakjąkága!
ought to check your backside where the gaping wound you made is
uh oh. young ones, be careful how you say this:
his -n-s was trailing out guts in abundance and
upon himself is how he’d meted punishment
upon himself: also how he’d been dining. so
took a couple handfuls of his booty up and tied it closed
and that’s why part of your b-tt’s wrinkly
wakjąkága couldn’t help mingling:
shaping the world while he faked his way through it
till we’re just like him, half divine, half stupid

- mc frontalot

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