Inkwell prophets think they've
Gotta lotta profit to make
But they've made the same mistake before
April with the rack, double M4s
What rhymes more on a torn page
Full of scorn
You get phased out where
Your feet don't fail
You do the Hokey pokey on
The breadcrum trail

Mirror images of expanding conscioussness
Pretentiousness always piques your interest
Or you think you're pop
Shallow and that's cool
Wow you're so hot you make a blind man drool
Cornball cronies ridin' batterin' rams
They're incubatin' babies in their cool it clam