Sound Checks

Synthesizer, microwave me, give me a drug so I can make seven babies
Pump my breast up, can you suck the fat up,
Please make my life appear like ain't no such thing as bad luck
My nose ain't right, think I need a new one
Just take your pick of a yellow, red or black or a blue one
Virtual reality, virtual bullshit
Synthesizer preacher can reach you up in the pulpit
Who a bitch? Give me my gat so I can smoke this nigga
Tell his mama not to cry because they can clone him
Quicker than it took his daddy to make him

Get there early for the OutKast. Stick around for Lauryn Hill; I will, hoping that her music will finally click for me in the way it has for so many others. Maybe it's just me. Or maybe the empress has no clothes. (RR)

Contributors: Daniel Durchholz, Terry Perkins, Randall Roberts

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