Analysis of a pop culture cultist Honey-sweet idolatry of the purist Each godling rotting on a pedestal Their children gone feral And their worshipers bent perpetual Intellectual Insulated by their own conviction Righteous in the mirror of a single opinion So vulnerable With their backs turned Stroking their reflection Drowning in their vanity
Feels good to be a what, what, what, what Nothing's holy Feels good to be a what, what, what, what That's man-made Feels good, feels good to be a gangsta Feels good, feels good We are the ga-ga-ga-ga Feels good, feels good to be a gangsta Feels good, feels good
We are the Ghetto Blasphemer And this is what you should fucking fear Corruption Of all you hold dear And a world where nothing is as it appears
Locked away In the darkest depths Possibilities That they fear to contemplate Where we reside Forever with our eyes Looking on as they struggle Against the rising tide And there I was, behind it all in the shadows, in the cracks in the walls Under beds and inside their heads whispering That the end is near Future obsidian I feed on fear
Feels good to be a what, what, what, what Nothing's sacred Feels good to be a what, what, what, what Your ? wasted Feels good, feels good to be a gangsta Feels good, feels good We are the ga-ga-ga-ga Feels good, feels good to be a gangsta Feels good, feels good
We are the Ghetto Blasphemer And this is what you should fucking fear Corruption Of all you hold dear And a world where nothing is as it appears
Bang!
Feels good to be a what, what, what, what ? Feels good to be a what, what, what, what I fucking refuse to try and fit in Feels good, feels good to be a gangsta Feels good, feels good We are the ga-ga-ga-ga Feels good, feels good to be a gangsta Feels good, feels good
We are the Ghetto Blasphemer And this is what you should fucking fear Corruption Of all you hold dear And a world where nothing is as it appears