[intro] [ soft gong and bells accent sitar ad lib ] There (there are) are those (those) among us That are so (deeply) grotesque that disgust Doesn’t adequately give justice To the repellant reaction contact with them Inspires. (The psychic stink it suffocates) [sitar solo is non traditional but catchy] [chorus] [back up singers chant rhythmically in a harmonic minor- tone is more aggressive in chorus]|| The fat (flaccid fucks) Not fat in flesh (sometimes yes) Not the weakness (they call a heartbeat) Depression Or thyroid conditions which put pounds on But the fat that is at their very essence (Pudgy soul jelly roll obese greasy Instant gratification requiring crybabys) Ladies and men that at some stage Stopped engaging the self reflection Mechanisms for reasons their own Leaving then shallow Confused, and in a pen With chains of what best tames trains and lames them [verse] A willful arrogant pride in their ignorance The fat ass fucks, in a metaphysical sense, Who are so intellectually obese That they struggle to get anything Just out of reach. The weak willed craven shills akin to deserters who chastise Conscientious objectors, they are disease For they are the vectors wherein evil creeps Plague bearers bringing vague terrors Everywhere without remorse doubt or care. Sowers of chaos and division Shmoozin the us verses them False attribution of kinship Beware their honeyed lip service Its poisonous and corrupting Devious and nauseating yet Kills the part of you who holds true to behold Glitters greater than silver and gold. [chorus] [bridge] [music backs off to a single hi-hat playing a crazy double time rhythm] Oh god damn them fat snakes in the grass Are dastardly bastards to everybody Who bear no gifts, dont stoop to kiss the ring Piss poor king nero Trumps Fat fucks ie chumps who stink of wrong so deep It triggers instinctual skin creeps Deep shudders, and urges to inflict hurts its As if the grift lifted up and embodied [chorus] [verse] So fat that it behooves them To strike down actions Which challenge norms or status quos No sir, so fat that their ankles couldnt stand Starting over Beware brother, sister know: This sort of spiritual muffin top Gets pissed at you And calls the cops Got no honor or fealty and so is both Unpredictably ill willed And a good human’s enemy.
