Text: Chaos Con Queso. Fashion Vs. Its Customers.

:
Let the brushes puke multi-colors on your face

The mirror grins and condones in your disgrace

Wrap that silver noose around your neck



Apply those bling-bling manacles

With the shiny rocks, and the whatchacalls

Bake yourself to a preferred pigment



Step out to your pulsating pervert audience

Their erections give you your round of applause



Maybe its me and my lack of common fashion sense

But your commercial fabrics not made of substance

Drowning yourself in the table of contents



Your personality was made by poor foreigners

Your personality was found dead by coroners

Mummify yourself in their arrogant slogans



Take a bow

Do a one-eighty

Show some ass

The curtain falls

With your self-esteem in tow



Revlons fist giving you two black eyes?

Love being embraced, eaten by your thighs

All sedated by a drinking binge

Maybe it's me and my lack of common fashion sense

But your fabric's not made of any substance

Drown yourself in the table of contents