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letra de machiavellian twist - payday monsanto

[francis e. dec – the communist gangster computer god]

“your moon brain of the computer god activates your frankenstein threshold brainwash radio, life-long inculcating conformist propaganda. even frightening you & mixing you up, & the usual “don’t worry about it” for your setbacks, mistakes, even when you receive deadly injuries. this is the worldwide computer god’s secret containment policy”

i can’t seem to leave the dope alone…somebody call my sponsor, i seem to’ve misplaced my prozadone. although it’s kinda cold at home, & heat of deceit is sweet, on second thought i think you better hold the phone. plus, it’s difficult to dial without my cortisone shot, i ain’t got the number memorized, the order’s wrong. i wanted to wait ’till the dragnet was complete, and it’s kinda hard to sleep with these magnets on my feet. my prefrontal cortex never gets spoiled, dimethyl sulfoxide & peppermint oil. mr. caterpillar, i hate to break your bubble, but when the cordyceps consporialate it could be trouble. i promise you, if i don’t get a vision when i take a little trip to desolation peak, my name ain’t robert blake. thank god i’m lucid, but i’m outta here if sh-t gets crazy. word to solomon, we’re gonna have to split the baby…

you really have to suffer with the greatest delusions, to think that you could come up with creative solutions, to solve a problem such as this…without a machiavellian twist…

snouts, hooves, assh0l-s, lips, mooooo, don’t get caught in their grips. with the candles, & the lambs, & the scandals, & the scams. players better watch the game, when there’s vandals in the stands. soap-on-a-rope shifting into the shape of the pope, for the filthy reptiles in the moat. my new binoculars let me see a few kilometers, inductivly couple-plasma, quadruple-mass spectrometers. wars are the richest harvests of khazars, so i plan to terraform mars, & bask in the stars. borderline manic-depression, panic aggression, romantic obsession, with sandwiches dressed in a tantric confection. i am now intangible in a lunar plume, this is not a doom & gloom tune, so consume a ‘shroom. i cannot be bribed, so don’t react with feba. i am from the tribe of smoke-a-sack-a-chiba…

you really have to suffer with the greatest delusions, to think that you could come up with creative solutions, to solve a problem such as this…without a machiavellian twist…

i am not a powderkeg…but if i blow up in a crowd, somebody’s hoppin’ away without a leg. you betta take it down a peg, if you want another plinko-chip ‘ya gotta learn how to beg. don’t make me bring the artillery to the front, these israeli arms dealers are billing me with the brunt. you can bring all the shillery that you want, i will send one of my men, to kick hillary in her c-nt…frontation of a tyrant is a beautiful thing, like making love in the antediluvian spring. when the flood happens, it ain’t movin’ a thing, i’ll turn to stone like the brothers of a peruvian king. make a move now, don’t act hasty, jose capablanca wouldn’t wanna face me. when all your p-wns are gone, ‘ya b-st-rds lost. now who the f-ck is gary kasparov?

you really have to suffer with the greatest delusions, to think that you could come up with creative solutions, to solve a problem such as this…without a machiavellian twist…

[francis e. dec – the communist gangster computer god] (cont)

“worldwide as a frankenstein slave, usually at night you go the nearby hospital, or camouflaged miniature hospital-van trucks. you strip naked, lay on the operating table, which slides into the sealed computer god robot operating cabinet. intravenous tubes are connected, a slimy, vicious, jew doctor simply pushes the starting b-tton. based upon your computer god brain on the moon, which records progress in your systematic butchering, your butchering…” (fades out)

- payday monsanto

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