![]() While our lives are often shielded, we're in our own protective bubbles, or protective helmets like the one Thom wears, if we look a little harder we can see all the corruption, lies, manipulation, etc. He'd rather die peacefully right now than live in this cage. But there is seemingly no way out but death. politicians and businessmen, perhaps) is not the way to live. This boring, "perfect" life foisted upon us by some higher powers (not spiritual, but political, economic, etc. In the video, his helmet is slowly filling up with water, drowning him. On No Surprises, the narrator is realizing how this life is killing him slowly. People are being used by those in power "like a pig in a cage on antibiotics"-being pacified with things like new phones and cool gadgets and houses while being sucked dry. But in Fitter, Happier the narrator(?) realizes that it's incredibly robotic to live this life. We're told to strive for some sort of ideal life, which includes getting a good job, being kind to everyone, finding a partner, getting married, having a couple kids, living in a quiet neighborhood in a nice big house, etc. Same ideas expressed in Fitter, Happier are expressed in this song. My style's impregnable like the Hoover Dam With those lies you're telling you're like Toucan Sam You're just yellin', wildin', wondering who I am You're like Foghorn Leghorn, Yosemite Sam The Albee Square Mall, Brooklyn, Downtown The truth is brutal, your grandma's kugel With the dipsy doo-doo the kit and kaboodle In the animal kingdom they call it presenting So put a quarter in your ass 'cause you played yourselfĪnd it you don't like it, then hey, fuck you So put your sewer boots on before your ass gets licked You're hearing me and you're like "oh my God its Sasquatch!"īut I'm walkin' on water while you're stepping in shit Your rhymes are fake like a Canal Street watch 'Cause I've got more rhymes than Carl Sagan's got turtlenecks I've got billions and billions of rhymes to flex ![]() It's gonna burn your mouth until you wet your beak I keep that hot sauce hot not mild and weak Now talk about your face now don't get pissed They was trashin' your ass it's sad you're getting dissed Takin' out the trash when you pull out the penĪnd if you don't like it, then hey, fuck you You people call yourselves MCs but you're garbage men MCs are like clay pigeons and I'm shootin' skeet Yeah you've been in the game, your career is longīut when you really break it down, you've only got two songs 'Cause you used a corked bat to get those hits You sold a few records but don't get slick I didn't touch your hand, man, you know it's all ball ![]() ![]() With your ticky-tack calls, didn't touch you at all Which of you schnooks took my rhyme book, look ![]()
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