LETRA Raw, i'm going to give it to you with no trivia raw like that aesop rock iron-fisted list militia while bent funny bone grown community spit a thousand and 1 ripples to cripple the continuity tap water builds character right i irrigate it straight to mainline you want to do the same? fine these pretty profit grommet teams solidify the clot to slippery city salt piston pump drain but hold those incredible console with the russian roulette baboon spin-off where everyday a thousand strangers pray for empty chambers one-sixth buckle five sixths sweat bullets trying to keep it subtle but i'll get you (i'm going to get you) wobbly rope bridge broke inches tired of dry land but duck skull stepping-stones suit the mix-down well well, when the rumor spreads that y'all stupid i'll be the cat with guilty look on face and shirt that reads: i didn't do it!
is it on, is it beyond basic does it ice grill you or is every song faceless?
does it have a title? if didn't would you name it?
does it babble about nothing like a drunken atheist?
we could run that orwells '84 war for the room 1 on 1 z-tour till he try and fidgets with his or her own work spear specifics swerve around the cobra kisses see if the venom overloads this vision i'm going to suck the poison out and spit it stole my sneakers but your features never fit in servers you right for trying to walk a mile outside your limits i'm going to tiptoe across this yo-yo string until you walk the dog out from under my feet and skip town, sit down (chorus) it goes boom boom boom boombox earth to a-r vertical burden has increased at an alarming rate bliss is down a point murder up, glee down and still falling still crawling out of bed at 2 on saturdays came this blind soldier-burning confessional ease back; let a heart thump echo normalcy for 10 let the back burner boiling point descend i race the derby in the first heat (strike personal) strike personal space with the most utterly putrid version of grace spit the gimmick, sit and fidget while we try and jump through hoops like coney island freak show midgets want to be a fighter pilot driving that childish early wright brothers experiment prototypic model fossil sit and sweat bullets on a console busting accidental dirt bike donuts outside the most ridiculous poison tongue brain silo dead before the chubby debutaunt conquered the high note schooled by the cruel intention inventions pensive sideshow see contrary to popular certainty i alone advance without an earthly poem and dance on a handful of zoning fans holding every chance to own the land i roam with dome in hands truly be its only camper happy with the scrap heap see i convinced myself it's on therefore it is and the melody settles beneath the fact that i'm just spitting for these kids i tried to get them all open and once i quit and said i didn't care i swear they all threw their hands up in the air (chorus) it goes boom boom boom boombox