I had a little monkey I sent him to the country and I fed him on ginger bread Along came a choo-choo, knoked my monkey coo-coo, and now my monkey's dead At least he looks that way, but then again don't we all?
What I make is what I am I can't be forever
'make you, break you, make you, break you, lookout' We are our own wicked gods, with little g's and big dicks Sadistic and constantly inflicting a slow demise
The primate's scream of consonance is a reflection Of his own mind's dissonance
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