Turn off your TV, read between the lines... 23, sucka, can’t you see the signs? It’s the apocalypse. The time is now. Ain’t no stoppin’ this!
Kabuum! I’m disconnected from the naval,
flatlined, resurrected and stable.
Now! It’s time to turn the table,
taps on phone jacks, propaganda on cable.
Reality check in high def,
run the rat race, but my life is timeless.
And I keep growing every day,
observe the game, lay low and maintain.
I feel the comfort in rain,
the misery ends when excepting the pain.
I chop down doubts like lumber,
my angst dies, my fears rumple like thunder.
I wake nightmares, shake and quake,
I reflect time slates in the eye of the snake now.
The night is on fire just like wicks
And fixin’ to blow up like dynamite sticks.
Kabuum! Yo, this kid’s ballistic,
parallel universes – all twisted,
blow the Richter, yo, crash the charts,
shoot for stars and top statistics.
It’s time to regain control,
of this wicked world – it’s impossible to stop...
The global enemy – John Dough.
Show only what you want them all to know.
Lock away your truths, hopes, fears and woes,
subversion is quickly exposed.
Cops will roam the zone and dispatch drones,
scan eyeballs and detect clones.
So keep a low profile.
Organize worldwide and worthwhile.
And when it’s time to strike back...
Booby trap tracks with dynamite stacks!
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