Beck Lyrics Ipsum

'cause it's plain and it's real 'cause there's only rehashed faces a final curse a house of disrepute, the dust of opiates abandoned coal mine ah yeah, weed-whack that thing and all those jokes have already been written and he jousted with the flaming huffy dog and he set it on fire in the kitchen sink and he's talking to me and i always set you free from all those yesteryears and i don't need a nunchuck or a gun and i hope the rain doesn't come and i'll send it to you and i've been lookin' for my shadow and if it ain't broken, then break it and it made me really sick and shops full of cold cuts and candy and slugs slithering out into the paint thinner and the crippled psalms and the typecast heathen with the future all rancid and there ain't nothin' like the real artificial and this is kind of a stupid song you write when you're unemployed anonymous suspect at the recreation center awaken primal feeling.

'cause you're shinin' way too bright 'til the dirt gets wet a hangman's rope a perfect, stupid, cardboard reject a story i wanna pass on to you that i think is aggot on your sleeve ain't it hard, ain't it hard all i can take from these scars is hope and all the streets, they reek of tropical charms and call them all the nasty things that you can and do the things that you should and drained and gone and get me a blanket and a chair and he's helpless and forgetting in the background saying nothing and how can i new again and i am so long waiting and i may be joking, you'll be choking instead and i opened up the taco stand and i'm feelin' bad even though nothing's wrong and it's a strange invitation and my instincts poisoned and now i'm limpin' all over when i feel your touch and the mayonnaise comes and they're helpless and forgetting in the background holding nothing and we stopped into the 7-11 to try our luck and you're taking a leak andelay joto, your popsicles melting" awaken primal feeling.

'cause the wind that is blowing a diamond in the sleaze a parasite's appetite all my life i been talkin' fast and bust out your tennis shoes and your mayonnaise and i have read in paper books and i wanted to be and i went out on tour and point it out with the dark sunglasses and the cliches are gettin eaten up and the rest of the best was a big mistake and the world is a holiday and there must have been some pickles and they're helpless and forgetting in the background holding nothing.