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“Corn Maze” is the second single from Aesop Rock and TOBACCO’s forthcoming album, “Malibu Ken,” releasing January 18, 2019!
Pre-order today from iTunes, Amazon or FifthElementOnline.com and receive a instant digital downloads of “Corn Maze” and “Acid King”!
Malibu Ken is available on mp3, CD, and vinyl. Order now: https://rse.lnk.to/MalibuKen

Head over to Aesop Rock and Rhymesayers’ official online store, Fifth Element, to bundle your pre-order with limited and exclusive Malibu Ken merch today! http://bit.ly/MalibuKenFE

Video Credits:
Aesop Rock – Himself
Little Girl – Zoe Shaw
Director – Rob Shaw
Producer – Brianna Vitale
2D Animator – Jesse McManus
Director of Photography – Jim Birkett
Assistant Director – Robert D’Esposito
Art Director – Jade Harris
Set Dresser / Set Production Assistant – Matt Lask
Compositor / Editor / Stop-motion – Rob Shaw
Color Correct – Orland Longlight
Special Thanks – Bent Image Lab

Song Lyrics:
I’m the world weekly news bat child, B-lining ash pile to ash pile to ash pile, for every ghost climbing out the flat-file, every gaffe, every lone spaz in the snack aisle, cracked out, don’t touch that dial ever, these trap doors forecast quagmire weather, but it’s worth it, from cobras out to kiss him on the cheek to snatching victory from out the jaws of imminent defeat, the phone ping from a pillow fort in a corn maze, I don’t have a horse in your war games, I don’t even really like horses, I like wild orchids and neighbors with wide orbits, electric fence, and pets that tend to pretty much ignore us, we head-butt in the mornings, then report to separate corners, criminy, you’re killing me, Smalls, the fist balls up, I pull my hood down, I got some walls up.
Walls up, I keep my coat on I got some walls up, chips down walls up, I cut the lights off.
Everyday I wake up in a gallon of sweat, puke blood, hit the shower, turn to Malibu Ken, while you were asking all your lackeys “Are we jackals or men?” I been the sorcery authority should catch if they can, mostly a master of none, come try the coffee it’s burned, he type a chapter, it sucks, top of the moth-eaten world, pick a one horse town, 4 horsemen got his number, I feed each one the others camouflaged in Fluffernutters, the million dollar freeze jazz speak in a secret garden, some people think it’s freakish but they can’t deny the harvest, it’s funny when they’re later made to celebrate the shit they said was garbage, it only show the city who the mark is, are we Donatello’s David or delicate Frozen Charlottes? Even Davids know in art there often will be no catharsis, the voices in my head still talk tough, I go to bed stoned, I got some walls up.
In a lavish, rabbit hole with no rabbits, young, dumb dust-bunnies jump into traffic, casually gussied up and done feeling unsung and savage, punk, we have come for your cabbage, I’m bad news travel like a rat through your cabinets, spaz, 20 paw pads full of scabs, off in a false ad, fall plaid all dander, blast off, black jackdaws on his antlers, zero-faithers, warily fear his neighbors, someday we’ll find a way to make these billionaires obey us, someday we’ll earn a subdivision gaudier than “reprobates”, who sit around depressed and guess the order of the Tetris rain, with biblical misreckoning, son of surly Satan torn asunder, private number, public urination, we socialize with pundits who encompass all the wrong stuff, I count the bread quick, I got some walls up.

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