Oatmeal Cookies Songtext
von Aesop Rock & Homeboy Sandman

Oatmeal Cookies
Oatmeal Cookies
Oat-Oatmeal Cookies
Oatmeal Cookies


Hated myself since before it was cool
Faced death like an orphan of gruel
Pardon the drool
Four eyes, palm croakies, ominous blueprints
And a peace sign middle going "I′m With Stupid"
Top stool, drop the pontoon
La Schmoove, Don clobber the chronically obtuse
Put down the telephone around a crew and double back
Summoning a storm from the pulpit of Farmer's Almanac cleanly
Separate the chukkas from the bucket hat
Hold still, gold fillings jump into his duffel bag
Shift, gotta shave for the minions
Started out simian, graduated ophidian
Fitting in as a fool′s heir and unworthy to emulate
I don't care, I never really felt cool anyway
Back in the cave for safekeeping
In the company of Lorna Doone and polyphasic sleeping

Ten years since I stood still
Started on my good foot but running out of good will
Still got a sneaker full of pebbles and a Janny full of demos and a pocket full of anvils
My dogs are riddled with self inflicted bullet wounds
I mixed the bee pollen with the free balling
Cat's already fed up with my lifestyle choices
I ain′t even stop pretending that I don′t hear voices... yet
I'm stranded on the internet
Spilling all my innards in the interviews
Turning to a silhouette
Running out of substance
At least authorities running low on my thumbprints
I had to break out from the function
′fore my unlimited metro card turn to a pumpkin
Beware when messin' with the G-O-D triple O.G. triple G, Gennady Golovkin

Oatmeal Cookies
Oatmeal Cookies
Oat-Oat-Oatmeal Cookies
Oatmeal Cookies


I anchor in the bottleneck
Double-knotted lobster bib
Satan spawn, game on, flings to the aqua-net
Prickly disposition from the mission statement riddled with the crippling misdirection of a million jaded middles
Pretending to be different than the businesses they meddle in
Until the whistleblowers separate the skin and skeleton
Underneath the hood is all pedestrian, essentially
Thespianisms threaded into the documentary, I mean
What a ruse, ever-winning etiquette
Allegiances have come unglued, tender feet are cherrypicked
Little lambs sure to go like everywhere that Mary went
Lions get therapy and branded as heretics
Single tear, Aes play Taps on the theremin terribly
Serenade the death of transparency
Now we′ll ride out out cloaked with no cronies
Watching alphas grow up into bronies
(Oh, geeze)

I want a dimepiece that smells as good as McDonald's fry grease that isn′t always criticizing my beats
I want a single to blow like Souls of Mischief in nine three so I can get Bobby Sonic a diet cola IV
I only want to be a billionare for 48 hours like Nick Nolte, Eddie Murphy, or Billy Bear
Longer than that and I'll get bored of it
I'll be like water with that sort of - shit, yeah
Backstage is like a Batcave
I rush out of it and act strange
I healed from a broken back without a back brace
Went and met my fiancee on the Backpage
Thank you for the accolades
I′ll trade them in, though, for a half a day
Everybody ditch the caravan of love and join the cabaret
And grab your mammaries
Hey

Oatmeal Cookies
Oatmeal Cookies
Oat-Oat-Oatmeal Cookies
Oatmeal Cookies