why dont you come to yr senses?
you been up cleaning lenses
for so long now
oh, you’re a hard one
and i know that you got the k hearts
but that band’s got some spare parts
that you should not allow

don’t you draw the king of muppets, boy
he’ll banjo if he’s able
you know the bald and husky ones are your best bets
and it seems to me, some fine things
have been laid upon your table
but with troy around, they’re things you’ll never get

your hands smell like muppet rectum,
your band and the spectrum,
they’re dragging you down.
and freedom? oh freedom,
well, that’s too abstract for drummers
just let the singers and strummers
tell you what they have found.

don’t your hands get cold in the movie booth?
the sun don’t shine there and that’s the truth
in dark room light, the night looks like the day
you’re loosin’ all your grooves and licks
ain’t it funny how your talent slips

why don’t you come to your senses?
drop your prog rock pretenses,
and open the gate.
the parking monkeys
sit in the box there above you
dont let that delmar dad shove you
come home and give us some hate.

Published in: on March 16, 2010 at 2:23 pm  Leave a Comment  

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