Licton Springs Review

Larry King and the Pope By Jonah Spagenthal

Shimmering spinning black wax melts, swimming upstream inside of me
Fifth crossfades to sixth, Common Sense till the groove hiss fades away
Some just hear the words some see it as a prophecy

Haunted by what would easily seem to be a ghostwritten autobiography
Alone with static-y headphones listening to Daylight break through the Labor Days
Shimmering spinning black wax melts, swimming upstream inside of me

They say take away every last paint line, schemed rhyme, broke beat, air flare and freeze
Nightly news standing orders say throw it out with the bathwater, it's broken anyway
Some just hear the words some see it as a prophecy

The spirit box is spitting back Scarface and Godfather figments of fantasy
Only moleman sincerity wasn’t laid to waste by the hot topic Mohawk market share fate
Shimmering spinning black wax melts, swimming upstream inside of me

For ages: not in my house and up, and fed investigations only sell more CDs
Read between the liner notes and know true steelo, with or without the airplay
Some just hear the words some see it as a prophecy

Trained on trains of thought born in South Side Bronx, to Kool Herc in seventies NYC
History’s only been written half way, so I’m picking up the pen and finishing the page
Shimmering spinning black wax melts, swimming upstream inside of me
Some just hear the words some see it as a prophecy