Bosico

You look like you were charmed
Out of a basket slack jaws clap straw homes
Hit the piggy in the clapper claw zone
Each a little Isaac Asimov
Actually down to accurately whack-a-mole
And get the taxidermy cataloged
With or without this bag of bones on my back
I'll be honest, I let a goat eat the map
Still agree to bleed a birthstone
Even if alerted to the dirt throne
Freely by your tentacles squeezing
Into a turncoat
Yikes, inertia days and vertigo nights
It's when a batch of falling
Gavels blur the vertical stripes
You ain't a leader among
You're a bottom feeder eating his young
We'll see who's teething when
The beef is expunged
Unless it shrivels up around us in
The caving wake of daylight
But more likely you slither off
Into the closest drainpipe
Miffed, other insiders are finding solace
Thought it wasn't ever in our
Quarters hoarding shiny objects
Degree in beeswax never personal
Which by the way have
Grown exponentially indiscernible
Behind a picture in the wall or
At the local pissing hole
Where desperate images sully every
Second an empty coat
I'm gonna guess you probably know everything
I could ever tell you plus a tiny bit more
That's what you're for
And you never met a button
That you ain't push
Or a sucker that you ain't mush
Or a mother fucking butcher

The, the, the butcher the, the, the, the
The cleavers know exactly where to put you
The, the, the butcher, the
The, the butcher, the, the butcher knife

When out of focus go the handlers
Answer to the hammerheads that camp
Under the scrambler box
Swam off with a plaque
For mounting antlers on outpost scanners
Of a yellow desert peppered with
Cow skulls and cameras
Down fall the phantoms
And a tale drawn long by a
Crown full of raw flawed canvas
You should see the cough cough annex
And D-up when your lullabies are peaking
For the succubi that fawn over
A good commandment breaching
Alright sleeping
25A, feeder full of chicks on horseback
Sailor Moon roof spewing horn hats
Born to corner any harrowing defector
Vector, through a delicate series
Of tech gestures
Check, hood on my hair, foot on my neck
Food in my trough
Stewing the nuances of hooligan law
Ran reds like a primed gazelle
Priced to sell
Because these window sill pies
Don't heist themselves from the tucker
Home of the dozen bee sting summer
Don't let them see your
Gills blushing seaweed color
Chum, this little medium is
Dominant social predator fun
It's really grown folks coming undone
But um, i'm gonna guess you probably thought
This all before me
But better and with a more elite view
That's what you do
And you never met a button
That you ain't push
Or a sucker that you ain't mush
Or a mother fucking butcher

The, the, the butcher the, the, the, the
The cleavers know exactly where to put you
The, the, the butcher, the
The, the butcher, the, the butcher knife