[Verse 1]
Dear Sirs
If the pavement comes alive on Flatbush Ave with toothy smiles

Comprised of traffic cones and manholes become eyes
And birds burst into flames while singing Satan's praises
And fold into the sky and rain down ashy danger

If every office empties and all slaves walk in dazes
To a pool of liquid money where they bathe blissfully naked
And drugs no longer taunt me and flooze around my conscience

And every woman beating rapist is securely in their coffins
If every open hydrant in a Brooklyn time summer moment
Is opened up by cops and folds out into an ocean

And rent is paid by bread literally and parking isn't paid for
And food stamps can be planted and childhoods can't be damaged
If fire could power space ships that safely ship the creators

Of dynamite and gun powder to the graves of all who faced it
And the slurping nerf of beauracrat life and bean coutning slave owners
Is twisted in on itself til they shave off their own faces

If all the !@%!e and crack in the nation is collected in a top hat
And force fed to the children of every CIA agent
And dust heads get an angel and an acres worth of rainbow

And the projects turn to clouds and the stupid aren't so proud
And the snivelling grimace mongrels of infected money slobbing
Pesticrats ignite into a brilliant beam of light

And mercy is the rule, and the exception's mercy too
And the desert comes in Brooklyn and the President goes to school
Time flows in reverse, death becomes my birth

Me fighting in your war is still, by a large margin
The least likely thing that will ever $#&@ing happen, ever