Exquisite Corpse

(Have you ever seen a corpse?)

(How about an exquisite one?)

(Think about Frankenstein's monster)

(Now, think about fun)

(You're getting it)

(Good)

(Johnny starts with a leg

(I sew on an arm)

(Then you lend a hand)

(We each add our piece)

(Now, what kind of beast have we made?)

(Let's find out)

I woke up Sunday to a blood-shot sky

Robot overlords goose-step by

Shoulda listened when we had the juice to try

And Bill the Science Guy told us that the end is nigh

Lately, it's been getting harder to

Survive, since the hive started to

Ban American refugees from being a damn part of the

People's Republic of Antarctica

A bum begged me for a bill he could borrow

Babbling some shit about "there's still a tomorrow"

He said that legend has it, there's still a Baja Grill and a Sbarro

At the top of Mount Kilimanjaro

It's so desperate, set out from the deserts out in Portland

Until my thirsty horse collapsed in the scorched sand

I promised to myself, heart and soul

I'll crawl across this dead world for those garlic rolls

Yo, kid, let go of the dead horse

Stop crying, need a ride? Hop in my red Porsche

Eat something, homie, you look boney and frail

Now, why the hell would you take the Oregon Trail?

Remember back in grade school, that stupid computer game?

You shoulda known better, now there's no one but you blame

Dying of dysentery, don't climb to the enemy

I'ma take you underground where the hive of resistance be

Apparently, a colony of people are out there (Where?)

A garden full of veggies, even garlic, they sprout there (Really?)

Leader, General Bieber, who be running shit down there

Found a way to end the drought, bring out the swimwear (Yeah)

Soon as we pulled up, we heard drilling noises

Children started dancing, even grown folk joined in

Like a hydrant in the Bronx, water shot up in the air

But was boiling and as hot as solar flares

Ooh-weee! ain't that a bitch?

Nobody believed it till the first wave hit

The ground started shaking and the sky went red (Mayday)

(Atlanta's been lost, Justin Bieber is dead)

No! Goddamn! Another one down

Colonies of people living under the ground

Rallied against the clowns, a resistance was born

And they'd fight for mankind and the existence of porn

Let's go

Uh, back on the surface, life teeters

Avoiding wild packs of North American Beavers

Creepers and face-feeders, fear the great Reaper

You're either gonna get eaten or beat with a pay meter

This is real shit, homie, dog eat dog

More like robot-clown eats man and whole squad

Graffiti on the wall says there is no God

But there is still homemade vodka, that's cool

Homemade vodka, pour a shot up and I swill it

I'm the only person left who remembers how to distill it

It's the most popular product in the underground economy

So I'm the most popular person in my underground colony

All the resistance leaders, they throw shots down

At my bar after they fight the robot clowns

As of late, they've been stressed and depressed

'Cause the chances of us winning are becoming less and less

We lost the captain of the human army

Morale's really low and a lot of people are starving

I'm still wondering how this all happened

Is this even real, or am I just on acid?

The clowns are advancing down

I use the word "down" 'cause they're coming underground

Wait, what's that sound? It's kinda loud

Holy shit! There they are right now

Calm down, soldier, this is no time to be a fink

We can beat these clowns, okay? We just need to think

I've lost ten men this week, I can't sleep a wink

But this the last place on Earth a guy can get a decent drink

So darned if we lose this bar to these useless zombie bastards

I'd rather starve than be boozeless

So, I put barbed-wire slabs on the fences

That should buy us some time to plan our defenses

Pick up the chairs and trash cans off the floor

Stack 'em up on the front door to jam up the entrance

Ain't got grenades, but we still might be saved

I just found fifty Diet Coke cans and some breath mints

Fill the trash cans to the brim with the cola

When the robots break in, toss the mints in the soda

See, the blast won't hurt 'em, but it'll get 'em wet, certainly

It'll mess up their wiring and disrupt their circuitry

If it don't work, though, my next plan cannot fail

We drink the vodka, shot after shot till

We're too drunk to feel pain, spark up a flame

And turn the bottles that remain into molotov cocktails

I've had it with you clowns, I've reached my limit

You may have killed my captain, but I'm the lieutenant

And I won't let you terrorize us, wait just a minute

That ain't no robot zombie, man, what the hell is it?

Adam, ha, I didn't mean to scare ya

Dude, that's not a robot, it's just Iggy Azalea

Must've hid up in the bar to learn about who we are

Then report back to the captain

Of the folks attacking my favorite rap stars

Oh shit, quick, hit her with some fucking duct tape

She came to sing rap and give us all some undercut fades

Low-fi beats transmitted telegraphic auto-tune

Help! She's inside my head and I don't think I am immune

Been repo'd, I think I'm in deep

I am weeping at the seams

Forfeiting my dreams

Of keeping the street's G-Code

Only way to outrun it, it's doubling up on the track

Any and everyone, get up and meddle, I mean it

Just put down that pedal and do it

Now, we taking over the tempo and tunin' it

Never goin' down and let some lil bih ruin it

So I'm in inducing it

Doomin it all, I'm undoin' it

Deuces, I'm dipping

Who coming with the kid? I'm out

Headed to dojo

Diggs got pistols hidden in his 'fro, though

These robots think we're bitch

Diggs, give me some loco

And let me borrow your Jefferson robe

Bro, I'm going postal

Bay boy's 'bout to put this barrel

Into some fucking blowholes

Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up, cahs

You see, I'm trimming my mustache up

I heard all these newly brainwashed

Rap chicks are really down to fuck

I combed the pistols out the 'fro

And they sitting on the table

And there's two cheesesteaks out

In a fully gassed up LeSabre

I'm ready to ride on these haters, let's go

But you better drive 'cause you already know

That apocalypse or not, when I'm behind the wheel

My black ass is sure enough gonna get stopped

And we ain't got the time and the tags are expired

You know how it is

I am really not trying to die today

By cop or by Iggy robot, whoa, stop

Lemme go bottle up this kombucha

I've been brewing on the back porch

Grab the backpack out the closet

It's got all of our passports

I've been planning this for a minute

Seen the writing on the walls

If we survive and find a civilization

They've got to know who we are

First, we swoop up Chinaka

In case we need some muscle

Or reason, or anything

Other than our indiscriminate hustle

Then we roll through the hood real slow

Bumping something all of these monsters know

Like a Watsky song, lo and behold

They'll follow our car wherever we go

Let's lead 'em out to Napa and let 'em gentrify that bitch up

Start the car, homie, no, we are not stopping for any Swishers

Or a McFlurry, bruh, there's no time for that shit

Hold up, there go Nak right there, pull over

Ay yo, Nak

Ay yo, Nak, get in the car

Hey, Rafa, get backseat, make room for your fam, friend

I'll give you this McShake and the end of my hand, son

Now, what the fuck y'all talking, it's the end of the world?

I've been on Pinterest, tending to the end of my curls

I mean, the sky is always purple, people running on vapors

I mean, the Tribune been gone, I ain't gon' read it in the papers

Nothing's all that different, been the same for black women

When Apocalyptic breakfast follow Revelation dinners

The lights been out, the water smelling of flint

Exquisite corpses laying where the bodies had been

No Bombs over Baghdad, just drones with grenades

So, when life give us citrus, we learn to drop lemonade

So, okay, fellas, shall we get in formation?

Bump some Pied Piper aura out the trunk of this scraper?

Do the end of the world styling in our fitted Zen Gators?

Lure these stupid motherfuckers on a goose chase

Use whatever's already in our suitcase

I got this whole-row jones for this open road

And my flow so cold, we don't need AC

I pop four NoDoz, I'll read this formal prose

I bet you Butler knows how to make us free

A Lauren Olamina in a trumped up world

A black magic woman still being called "girl"

But the only constant is change, homes

So, let's get the supplies and then dip out our Bay homes

Got this earthquake kit and six gallons of gas

I've got Diggs in the driver and Raf in the back

Got this passenger seat and the last of these sweets

Go north, Davide, just gun it till wine country

Do it moving fluid like turfing with iDummy

It's the Bay moves we learned, its natives gon' keep it safe

It's that forty water-water and an instrumental tape

Let's go, they'll get tired behind us

I mean, half of 'em hybrid but, ****, most of 'em wind-ups

We got nothing but power, we got nothing but time

I got Kwudi new beats and Music of My Mind

But nothing left in Napa but the scent of the grapes

No pallet cleansing tapas for discriminate taste

Nothing left in Calistoga but one popped bubble

We got just two dudes and like, one not trouble

How the hell we supposed to repopulate humanity?

The two of y'all and me? That's like, actual insanity

Like, ew, that's really gross, guys

It's like, not Diggs and not Rafa, not nobody else

Just get back, just doing it styling in wine country with nothing else

Red, red wine, I don't wanna die, I hum under

My breath as I fight death in the quiet depths of the bunker

I was confounded when I came to after Dumbfounded

Brought me to the battered base underground

Where we hunkered down for the summer

But then winter came and the flame

That we tended to flickered to nothing

And the few of us living resorted

To burning cadavers like tinder and lumber

We bickered bitterly

And our wickedness hit a peak and our hunger

Sickened, we hunted each other

Pick-pocketed the weak and we plundered

A visitor from the surface stole

A garlic roll from a Dave and Busters

And I butchered the buster in his sleep

Just to lick his fingers for butter

But it kinda gave me indigestion

I confess, and the pipes ruptured

From a dung, lungs punctured

When Dumb stuck me with the sharpened end of a plunger

Now it's me and Grieves in a shallow grave

Next to J Biebes and Azalea's

Pale, humungous butt that I rest my head up

And provide perpetual slumber

We frail and wretched kvetch and wail

It's curtains, my days are numbered

And I'm numb to the pain

Yet, one remaining certainty give me comfort

I made a living yelling my opinions loudly

Thinking I might matter if I drew a crowd, see

Now my lilly cheek on Iggy's chilly cheeks

I finally see that the future will be fine without me

Nothing is entitled to be mine, um

A token of a broken time and

Maybe there's survivors on the surface in LeSabres

Working on tomorrow, sipping red, red wine

Red, red, red, red, red, red, red, wine