Splitting Hairs - Clarence Clarity, Pizza Boy

The torso of my toy wrestler is too loose

And you’re trying to feed me kind words through poop chute

Quit it, I can smell the waste

It elevates into the air, I swear, it’s up there

Doing a jig upside down on a glass ceiling

And on the other side, there is Billy Mays

Kneeling down giving it a streak-free shine

But when I show him the footprints he ignores me each time

I catch sight of myself sliced in seven angles

I’m quantised and baptised but understand that

Maybe one day in a couple of years

God be like;

«Fuck it, I’ve been splitting hairs»

I catch sucking myself sliced in seven angles

I’m quantised and baptised but understand that

Maybe one day in a couple of years

God be like;

«Fuck it, I’ve been splitting hairs»

I get it, it’s not your problem, you’ve transcended

We’re swimmin' in outrage and gluten-free chicken

Gawker articles, copious photographs of kittens and… «Listen to my mixtape!»

That was a request, not commentary

The similarity of our struggle is kinda scary

Iapapa berries are my art;

some life for nerds, but turds to those confused by

tart remarks

I catch sight of myself sliced in seven angles

I’m quantised and baptised but understand that

Maybe one day in a couple of years

God be like;

«Fuck it, I’ve been splitting hairs»

I catch sucking myself sliced in seven angles

I’m quantised and baptised but understand that

Maybe one day in a couple of years

God be like;

«Fuck it, I’ve been splitting hairs»

I’m at my weakest, reading Rap Genius

Trying to make sense of myself, dispensing my health

To these beings i’m not even sure that i’m seeing, peeing on the side of the

bowl

My roommate is sleeping next to the girl who is sleeping with him,

because her guy does art and only makes about 8.99

Christ, me and that guy would be best pals, but I should keep it down,

their having sex now

I catch sight of myself sliced in seven angles

I’m quantised and baptised but understand that

Maybe one day in a couple of years

God be like;

«Fuck it, I’ve been splitting hairs»

I catch sight of myself sliced in seven angles

I’m quantised and baptised but understand that

Maybe one day in a couple of years

God be like;

«Fuck it, I’ve been splitting hairs»

Splitting hairs

Splitting hairs

One day in a couple of years

God be like;

«Fuck it, I’ve been splitting hairs»