(Today it’s time to stop singin’ ‘n’ start swingin’)
[Math]: While I emerge thru vapors in spaces unexamined
I am constantly focused on others’ mental famine
Perchance you will leave me alone, busy noise man
Or am I at risk for sounding like a No Blood for Oil man? ☹
Is my own misinterpretation of myself more correct than yrs? :|
Is my slim fit body more suited for health food stores? ☺
Strolling aisles of liquids that play “Hit Me Baby One More Time”
Are just reassembled parts of failed nursery rhymes
But then why must it bite my head off every year
It’s getting tough to find a seamstress who can stomach reattaching ears
My Frankenstein appearance lacks certain experience
“Hold on, Math, I’m picking up some interference”
Mayday, Big Martha! Thee good ship FollyPop is sunk!
“Better let emo on board, next up hardcore punk”

We will never follow them, we have our souls riding on this

[BMartha]: I was born essentially thee same as my sisters
And every time I talk to them we’re speaking like bullfrogs
Throats bloated out, full of Filipino fruit flies
& backwards Bolivian bowties
On Sunday nights I meet with thee ladies on Roberts Road
To bake assorted pies
& we discuss their late husbands ‘n’ misogynist lies
Or rather, they discuss while I feign feminist
Yelling “He deserved it!” ‘n’ raising a fist
Is this how indigenous we’ve turned
That men & women get burned, babies no longer get churned
& nothing we’ve learned is so far past how we’ve been normed
Into a soy-fiber-turned society of neo-hippie wonders
Who vote No! or vote Yes!, but think less than they should
& who test to place higher, round cycles like a dryer or thee wheel

[Math]: It’s invigorating slogging thru this swampland
Finding half a soul, while halfway drowned in quicksand
Corporations ‘n’ discorporations color this discolored skin
Is it cancerous or just malignant? Either way thee doctors win
Smog-scented tombstones decorated with strips of Christmas lights
Am I too young, mommy? No, tonight’s a fine time to die, alright
& one for thee little missy with thee urge to find true love
God didn’t make her that way, Captain, one false hope is enough
(So we’re trapped, trapped, double-trapped, triple-trapped, trapped)

[BMartha]: Invented, or discovered? By a man or a thing?
Should I rap, speak, shout, or is it more pleasant to hear me sing?
& like A New England Nun, my canon is unsuited
For that which you accept as yr own
Is it obnoxious that I keep sweeping behind you with this hand-broom
Or is it just that I’ve locked you in this room with me?
I’m sorry did you say something politely?
Why aren’t you shouting? Why haven’t you left?
I will be deaf ‘n’ most certainly bereft of any real sense
1st, 2nd, 5th, or 6th, before the bite-sized guillotine falls upon this

[Math]: Covers are over my head, but my conscience has escaped
I’ll dub you a copy of my personality from a second generation bootleg tape
Kill me with Motorhead ‘n’ Napalm Death CD-R’s
It’s hard to get you more obnoxious than you already are
Cos Annandale is no different from Cairo, is no different from Rome
People laugh ‘n’ smell like Civilization Sweet Home
& on Halloween, after the kids have eaten too much of their candy
We slip Occam’s Razor in their Skittles ‘n’ sip on our sweet tea

[BMartha]: Pay attention, you wheat germ, Morning Star btlegger
Mixing barrels of the stuff in yr underground illegal cellar
& to yr mother, thee fortune teller, worshipping thee heart of Helen Keller
While shifting so thee see-thru ball shatters on thee ground
Futures, destinies, deaths, ‘n’ sins pl around yr ankles
& thee whole time, I am stocking up on multi-vitamins
So when thee fish supply runs out
I won’t be searching for a sinking boat to go climbing in
& like other men, I like a gd shower & getting healthy amounts of sleep
Food if it’s free ‘n’ a freshly-washed fitted sheet
& a new pair of soccer cleats

[Math]: Who voted for who ‘n’ you couldn’t believe
4 aces fell out you wiped snot on yr sleeve
123 dream team got you in a tractor beam
Ichi ni san shi Sim City Ski Free
Go roku shichi hachi may the force be with you
As you herd yr sheep into thee same place I herd my wolves into
Thee china shop, but be careful thee price is no joke
Thee gold digging shopkeeper ain’t messing with no +broke broke+
Louie Louie plays on in a jukebox, in my mind
In my stereo all thee time, 3 chords just fine
Electric guitar A-D-E structure 1-4-5
Richard Berry prepared me to meet my demise
(And thee white liberals who have been posing as No Sunlite for the Media have failed us)