Force-fed more than we'd eat in the wild
Grazed on a mash that could suffocate a child
Bloated, promoted in an ode to pomp and style
Moistening the feed while we choke upon the bile
Cornering the market on the geese without the bones
Hushing out the public in a strike without a drone
The cage became collapsible, our sticks equipped with stones
Get the motherfucker on the phone, the phone
Get the motherfucker on the phone, the phone
Get the motherfucker on the phone, the phone
Get the motherfucker on the phone, the phone
Get the motherfucker on the phone, the phone
Hello motherfucker, my lover
You saw it coming
Step aside the scruples in a stratagem of strain
A smallpox-laden blanket, invisible with stains
Inoculating bastards, bloodied pecking pain
Distemper has a hold, distemper has a hold
We took the second sip from a cup we made of bones
The first sip was a ruse, a trick so aptly thrown
The truth is that our youth was a carpet laid in stones
Get the motherfucker on the phone
Hello motherfucker, my lover
You saw it coming
Goodbye motherfucker, my lover
You had it coming
Get the motherfucker on the phone
Get the motherfucker on the phone
Get the motherfucker on the phone
Get the motherfucker on the phone
Get the motherfucker on the phone
Get the motherfucker on the phone, the phone