Force fed more than we eat in the wild
Grazed on a mash that can suffocate a child
Bloated, promoted in an ode to pomped style
Moistened in the feed while we choke upon the bile
Corner in the market on the geese without the bones
Hushing out the public in a strike without a drone
The cage became collapsible
Our sticks equipped with stones

Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone
Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone
Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone
Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone
Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone

Hello motherfucker
My lover
You saw it coming

Set aside the scruples in a stratagem of strain
A smallpox-laden blanket, invisible with stains
Inoculated bastards, bloody pecked pain
Distemper has a hold, distemper has a hold
We took a second sip from a cup we made of bones
The first it was a ruse, a trick so aptly thrown
The truth is that our youth was a carpet laid with stones

Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone

Hello motherfucker
My lover
You saw it coming

Goodbye motherfucker
My lover
You had it coming

(Get the mother fucker on the phone)
(Get the mother fucker on the phone)
(Get the mother fucker on the phone)
(Get the mother fucker on the phone)

(Get the mother fucker on the phone)
(Get the mother fucker on the phone, the phone)

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Writer(s): Mike Patton