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Lyrics Exquisite Corpse by Watsky lyrics

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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 bloodshot 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

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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” And so desperate, I set off from the deserts out in Portland Until my thirsty horse collapsed in the scorched sand I promised to myself heart and soul I’d 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 bony and frail Now why the hell would you take the Oregon Trail?

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Remember back in grade school, that stupid computer game? You shoulda known better, now there’s no one but you to blame Dying of dysentery, don’t climb to the enemy I’ma take you underground where the hive resistance be Apparently a colony of people are out there A garden full of veggies, even garlic they sprout there Leader General Bieber who be running shit down there Found a way to end the drought, bring out the swimwear 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 wee, ain’t that a bitch? Nobody believed it til the first wave hit

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The ground started shaking and the sky went red (Mayday! Atlanta’s been lost, Justin Bieber is dead) No! God damn, another one down Colonies of people living under the ground Rallied against the clowns, a resistance was born They fight for mankind and the existence of porn (let’s go!) Back on the surface life eaters Avoiding wild packs of North American beavers Creepers and face feeders Fearing 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, and that’s cool

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Homemade vodka, pour a shot up then 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 In 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 is 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

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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 those 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

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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 til 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! Ah! I didn't mean to scare ya Dude, that’s not a robot, it’s just Iggy Azalea Musta hid up in the bar to learn about who we are

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Then report back to the captain of the folks attackin' my favorite rap stars Oh shit, quick! Hit her with some fuckin' duck-tape She came to sing-rap & give us all some undercut fades Lo-fi beats transmittin' telepathic AutoTune 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 keepin' the streets G code Only way to outrun it is doublin' up on the track Any and everyone get up and meddle mean it Just puttin' the pedal into it Now we taking over the tempo and tunin' it Never gone let a lesser lemon ruin it, so I’m inducing it Doomin' 'em all, I’m undoin' it, deuces I'm dippin' Who comin' with the kid? I’m out Headed to the dojo, Diggs got pistols hidden in his fro though

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These robots think we're bitch, Diggs, gimme some loko And let me borrow your Jefferson robe bro, I’m goin' postal Bay boys 'bout to put this barrel into some fuckin' blowholes Whoa whoa whoa, hold up cash You see I’m trimming my mustache up I heard all these newly brainwashed rap chicks are really down to fuck I comb the pistols out the fro and they’re 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 a geek robot

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Whoa, stop, lemme 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 us Chinaka in case we need some muscle Or some 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—no, homie—we are not stopping for any swishers Or a McFlurry, blood there’s no time for that shit Hold up, there go Nak right there, pull over Ayo Nak, Ayo Nak, get in the car! Ay Raf get back seat

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Make room for ya fam, friends I’ll give you this McShake and the end of my Hansen Now what the fuck you talking it’s the end of the world? I 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 follows 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 When life gives us citrus we learn to drop Lemonade So okay fellas shall we get in formation? Bump some pied piper R up out the trunk this scraper Do the end of the world styling in our fitteds and gators

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Lure these stupid mufuckas on a goose chase Use whatever’s already up in my suitcase I got a whole jones for this open road And my flow so cold we don’t need AC I popped fo’ no doze, I’ll read this formal prose Bet you Butler knows how to make us free A Lauren Olamina in Trumped up world A black magic woman still being called girl But the only constant is change holmes So let’s get the supplies and leave up out our bay homes Got the earthquake kit and six gallons of gas Got Diggs in the driver and Raf in the back Got this passenger seat and the last of these sweets Go north Daveed, just gun it til wine country Do it moving fluid like turfin with iDummy

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It’s the bay moves we learned as natives gon keep us safe It’s the 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 them wind-ups We got nothing but power we got nothing but time I got Kwudi’s new beats and Music of My Mind Nothing left in Napa but the scent of the grapes No palate-cleansing tapas for discriminate taste Nothing left in Calistoga but one popped bubble We got just two dudes and just one Nak, trouble Like how the hell we repopulate humanity The two of y’all and me that’s like actual insanity Like eww, that's really gross guys It's like, not Diggs, and not Rafa Not nobody else, just doing it styling in wine country with nothing else

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Red red wine, I don’t want to 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 Dumbfoundead Brought me to the battered base underground where we hunkered down 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 in our hunger Sickened we hunted each other Pickpocketed the weak and we plundered A visitor from the surface stole a garlic roll from Dave and Busters And I butchered the buster in his sleep just to lick his fingers for butter But it kind of gave me indigestion I confess and the pipes ruptured from my dung Lungs punctured when Dumb stuck me with the sharped end of my plunger Now it’s me and Grieves in a shallow grave Next to J. Biebs and Azalea’s pale humongous butt That I rest my head upon for my perpetual slumber We frail and wretched kvetch and wail It’s curtains, my days are numbered And I’m numb to pain, yet one remaining certainty gives me comfort I made a living yelling my opinions loudly Thinking I might matter if I drew a crowd, see Now, my lily cheek on Iggy’s chilly cheeks I finally see the future will be fine Without me Nothing is entitled to be mine I’m a token of a broken time And maybe there’s survivors on the surface in LeSabres working on Tomorrow sipping red, red wine

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