Aesop Rock — Gun For The Whole Family lyrics

The page contains the lyrics of the song "Gun For The Whole Family" by Aesop Rock.


Before shooting troops was cooler than hula hoops
High noon was your basic who’s who of brutal truth
Hot summer gun or box-cutter slow dance
Turn a young’n to a dozen paper dolls holding hands
And tricky was a wooden horse pushed up on your porch
So chicanery was yours to engage or ignore
I was on the latter but a lot adopt pawns
So we carried lawn chairs and buckets of popcorn
Pass the popcorn
Brawl fair, cop car, voyeur hawk him out his hinges
Storm door splinters, clamoring about, hammers out about to ring
Infiltrate each others tribes and murder each others queens
Packed to the very last rafter, clung to the rafts
And the cameras to capture the damage
Neck swivel with a chomp chomp volley
Where the ants leave nothing but the bones and the car keys
Pardon if his two feet fester
It was rude of me people, meet left and lefter
Planted like a model of civility and honor for the sector
But never got his extra, extra
Peace for the better but it wasn’t entertaining
So they waited for the tazing from the safety of his haven
Like bees to the honey when they lumped you up
'Cause bumper cars are only funny when they bump
(Know that)
Hot summer gun or box-cutter slow dance, popcorn, popcorn
Hot summer gun or box-cutter slow dance, capture the damage
(Yo, this dude talks real slow yo crazy)
(Yeah man, that’s my boy Steve, he just talks like that)
(It's weird, that is weird)
Tune to Hellemundo for action packed blasphemy
Big city translate your face till it atrophies
I let the schadenfreude boy out actually
Deployed to void with grin to watch laughingly
Pass the P’s, it’s a laugh in I can smell the tragedy when hatchin'
Happily dispassionately patched in Alive with the menace of demise like 'Yes' the pain dazzles men
Pass the popcorn, pass the popcorn, it’s reality at its fastest
And yet it still unravels at a pace like molasses
I guess the last of the seconds
Before the worst of disasters stretch past us Wouldn’t you agree that it is fabulous?
In the corridors of entropous wars contort drastically tilted fits
I adjust to climates of the wilderness
Walk along my spine take the pilgrimage
Up in to the section that’s reserved
For the smirk of the coldest witnesses
Work you motherfuckers
There’s all day to die, innovate the mayhem with grace
The good form fall, fuck if I’m a warn y’all, nah
I got the front row to the greatest entertainment
That an angel never saw
Sixty thousand watts of that raw «Pull the claw out of the trunk»
Fun, each one teach one how to club one
Look at how they bathe up in the dove blood
It’s gonna be a night of thrills and chills
Where the sacred is made of mud mud
Each one teach one how to club one
Popcorn, popcorn
Each one teach one how to club one
Popcorn, wouldn’t you agree that it is fabulous?
Yo honestly, if you’re man
Steve really talks like that, uh, that’s not really normal
Yeah, that sucks, yeah, it’s pretty bad
Nobody’s voice should sound like that
It was a lazy day, it was amazing grace
It was a half-a-dozen claymores daisy-chained
It wasn’t daisies and crazy eights
It was an ace of spades over a waiting game of slaves and saints
And every trainee face-painted
While his great escape grazed and ate
He’ll never make it when he aims he shakes
And I was overly engrossed from a very locked door
With a couple milk duds and buckets of popcorn
Pass the popcorn
Clap clap, encore
Monkey in the middle study how the bunker took the missiles
Age of machines with nary a green screens
So the hecatomb is every bit as cutting as it seems
I could tell the pet from the vet
Money, where his canine’s spread and never welched on a bet
That said, know the over-under on your local hunter
And you’ll profit off his widow-maker's numbers every summer
Bump in the night, funny, will he catch and release 'em?
Has he mercy? Will he hack 'em to pieces?
Is he dirty? Will he hassle policemen
And security breach until impurities leak over the circuitry?
And nada milk and honey, there is only skulls and bunnies
That hop around drunk in the land of a hundred Mondays
God damn, pop the Redenbacher proper
And for Christ’s sake, get this man a doctor