Hail Mary Mallon - Plagues and Bacon скачать видео бесплатно

Aesop Rock, Rob Sonic, and DJ Big Wiz.

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Off of Are You Gonna Eat That? from Hail Mary Mallon featuring Aesop Rock, Rob Sonic, and DJ Big Wiz.

Plagues and Bacon

A.R. - if in the obituary column, sniff it,

it was written by the forks and knives of Mary Mallon,

fever in the stew, sorta buried in rabbits and boiled cabbage,

had a little lamb - it was average,

coulda been a Magdellan, Mary had a craft

it would ask her to master the oven of manhattan's upper class

on a budget, lunched with the cemetery staff

til her resume had slashed through the stomachs of the public,

everyone around you is dying,

everything you touch caught the pest,

imagine for a second the unrest

when the fruit of your labor is like a poison to the

very employers you are laboring to impress,

queen mary midas, if gold is a rose-colored virus,

alive in the vilest environments around,

ladle in the soup,

feed you the spices in which you are later cooked

Knives don't cut in the kitchen,

but yes those cooks may die,

Tied to the same folk who loved you

and then used blood for the pie,

Sick don't look like it used to,

and hearts cant eat of your fork,

This goes out to the tragic,

cause hail mary mallon wants more.

R.S. - She place the trays on the pots and plates

keep the goose and the gander with the possum played,

a heart as good as gone and no option weighed,

whatever Mary carried when the doctors came,

coats on masked up orderly, "Hah"

hellish fever formed from the pork and beans,

death came to dinner with New York's elite,

a cup a milk a stick of butter and some quarantine,

Mallon's talents, a balance of beasts born,

from the typhoid Cellulose tell you to keep warm,

death in a petty coat peddle her sweet corn

to the butcher in the bowery and a felony feeds four,

what cop? want to tell you to keep clear,

manage your sandwich isn't well and it breeds fear

on the bar near the bucket of cheap beers,

its your money or your life if you continue to eat here!

A.R. - not a pot luck,

got a unlucky pot where the ham hock wash up,

cram that slop down,

50 cots in a sickly room

each a pristine notch in her mixing spoon,

Mary ain't a monster a marvel of medicine, i

innocently hid a bit headache in the venison, america,

might get bedside critical,

sweating in her X-eye, death by dinner bell

R.S. - indignant and diligence loudly, how'd she,

work for the lawyers employing her proudly,

she made them the medicine they stay at home drowning,

the fix is the Jones and Tyrone is the county,

we know you mean well Mary, patience.

there ain't enough will in the world that can save them,

good made of wood widdled down to the aphid,

the danger is dead and buried at St. Raymond's.

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