from the songs album Portrait Of American Family
I had a little monkey I sent him to the country and I fed him on ginger bread
Along came a choo-choo, knoked my monkey coo-coo, and now my monkey's dead
At least he looks that way, but then again don't we all?
What I make is what I am
I can't be forever
'make you, break you, make you, break you, lookout'
We are our own wicked gods, with little g's and big dicks
sadistic and constantly inflicting a slow demise
the primate's scream of consonance is a reflection
of his own mind's dissonance
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