Manaconda
You sobbing bastard of commerce
You crossed the fucking line
Exalt yourself while you lay down
Mistake a vote for a sign
You prospering pig
You big childish form
You only lack to be human
You ride the wave of the norm
No pulse, no chance (Hanging on a thin line, killing Terra)
No life, no dance (Banging on the walls with no interior)
No hope, only rope (Hanging on a thin line, killing Terra)
No you, no me (Banging on the walls with no interior)
While people strive to awaken
You stink of chloroform
The pouring shit from you mouth
Is like a Tsunami swarm
You sip champagne and swell
Ignoring the common hell
Hope you die a sad man
Alone and with no bell.
Writer/s: Bård Ingebrigtsen, Eirik Øien, Rolf Yngve Uggen
