(Crocker Verse)
/New millennium isolation, apathy, & and cynicism/ over dramatized confessionals, that bend your ear to attention/ Big Brother spies, and yet we scoff at the mention/ Scream Illuminati, but still constantly listen/ To these acts with monosyllabic lyrics/ Embalm my soul, woe, and pretend that I get it/ Hope, change, rope, hangs/ Swing low, sniff cocaine/ All the makings of a has been that never was/ Never lightened up enough to have tried and measured up/ Idols that divide, the kool-aid turpentine / turnikit tie offs work till it you feel it jerk inside/ Pacify the masses, slower than molasses/ and pick out pretty bouquets that might adorn my casket/ Watch the idiocy induce my own hara-kiri/ Immolate like a Buddhist with a Communist nearing/ A Marxist Gnostic, for I seek refuge in no one/ Dig up the Bolshevik Lenin, the peace one's ho-hum/ The lost caliphate , rebuke the magistrate/ I might prostrate but still openly exacerbate/ Beaten as Joshua, as the Romans lacerate/ Or as special as a fair skinned Shiite who lives to agitate/ Namaste to the five percent, to the rest find shelter/ John The Revelator prophesied of my Spector/Sermon at Deer Park, Sermon at Temple Mount/ Both aged 30, suppose the difference now/ I wish a Mazdayana wake, leave my bones for the vultures/ To symbolize the life of what's become of my culture/ For people like Markoff who haven't the slightest/ Wears a wave cap and baggy clothes like its righteous/ Peace to Clarence Thirteen, ye are Elohim/ Higher than Seraphim, skied in Medellin/