The 23 Current (Psychic in The Wry Mix)

Corpse bride, insecticide.
Rub yo' belly down God's slip 'n slide.
1,2,3,4 Nature's goodness dripping out your pores.
5,6,7,8 Either feel my love or taste the hate.
I am the deadly microbes on your plate.
So eat it up, and salivate.
As your braindead body sits and stagnates.
While I dance circles around you and recreate.
F**k how you've been geared,
Just another sheep to be sheared,
As Satan laughs and strokes his beared,
Thinking you stupid loser, where's your will to be weird?