Social Scentology by The Henry Clay People Lyrics

The misadventure of our dying trees
Behold the flavor of the centuries
I believe in social scientology
Or any shit that makes me think I'm free

Sold half kegs in a brown bag for
All the hyper kids and all the fashion whores

Hold the position of the figure eight times eight by eight doesn't this feel great?
But you flock like a fiche when the pain escape
Oh my God, my God, oh my God doesn't this feel great?
Doesn't this feel, doesn't this feel, don't we all feel great?