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• Artiste: Secret Band
• Titre: 3-11
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Sometime prior to inserting the pump Into the god we have We delayed our dad In spaces acquired by counting rings on a stump The god we have is goddamn mad Raking leaves in an air compressor There's not much room for wooden dresser Lost my keys Black professor Grappling hook for white aggressor It's breakfast time Try to wear your breakfast clothes Or make a rope kit tied on your breakfast door Could I mow down these 62 sidewalk crows? Made trades with the cats on tap Got a lung drunk punch luck tight shut litmus test Drum son I'm on the gun for you Smoke weed called christmas glue Sittin' in a pew The god we should've had The worthy seething mad But we don't We don't love you anymore The god we shouldve had Beneath the wreath it's sad That we don't We don't love you anymore So filling plastic turbine Spinning coarse incessant beads Read a lot of shops Were too late to drop their lead map warranties Make par and a battered moan A rock, a stone, a layered loan In place of a parlor cone Makes a greed like cancer aire to the throne Skin graft machine lick Make par and a battered moan (nonsense jibberish shit) I'm sick of everyone Bitch I'm a cartoon those bars won't do shit to me My residual bank loan spit I cope in comatose flow Sign closet cone sanctioned bond Man you're broke thats dope A racket lawn calloused perennial talking bar tab switcher Monsoon parlor taxidermist regal soft as fuck t-shirt Soft as fuck t-shirt