Let me put you up on Bob's donuts Controller of the warm deep fryer that charms cobras Mostly it was aggravated ulcers over goat's legs Will they go for maple, custard, buttermilk or wolfs bane? Hm, late after your cinderella pulsate and crash I was rotating casts Picture if you will a witching hour on week night in the trenches Where paranoia dead-ends in a bright florescent heaven With sprinkles I know right yum Whether tummy ache or fever Keep the funnel cake I'm honey glaze in vitro In the company of similar believers Sleepless, who hear the walls breath and foam at the facial features Now the yeast, a phoenix in the partially hydrogenated Equal parts flower, faith, healing Might replace your previously nominated jesus But only if you privy to the following secret of all secrets
Shh, every night at 12 they would march out from the back With a tray of raw dough for the pool of hot fat Show up around 1 never get your god back If you're just tuning in, walk into the light
I boil oil too, not for scarfing For CCs of japanese innovation that screech into free parking Purple heart and 2nd chin that beseech him to squeeze the carbs into the motherboard You can chew the eucharist in cruller form Locally a seedy danish underworld is bustling where jelly's not a celebrated it's a puppet string Pluck, nose for canola 5 cow stomachs like a mime with a rope going nowhere Fast, right hand of god on my shoulder, crows feet swollen, dopey Combing apple fritters over with folk of opposing cultures Baby sitter cop thief reverend, body glitter, botched c-section, bronze teeth Each progressively more sequestered Yet if threatened will defend the rasin bread as codefendants Some lose religion or view it as superstition You can tell a friend if you are down to kill them
Shh, every night at 12 they would march out from the back With a tray of raw dough for the pool of hot fat Show up around 1 never get your god back If you're just tuning in, walk into the light
The fat boys are back, foam fingers over open arms To feverishly reclaim their stomachs from golden jars And stagger through the pulse of the gulch on a builder's dividends Hiding high behind his guilty powdered-sugar fingerprints Seething eventide fever, sidewalk feeling a little dicey I'm snake-eye straight to the cakes icing Might, fortune-teller up your favorite paper tiger stripe Great, grace invaders, the first-name basis patron haters Who compromise the pilot lights and flavors Silent night, holy night, invite the pious out the pagan Midnight kitchen doors un-caging the enablers like butchers in bloody aprons Can I get a fucking amen? AMEN, hazelnut raiders of the lost, navigate consecutive pastries like stations of the cross No name no dayjob Know the folk where it virgin mary toast by the loaf Thanks bob
Shh, every night at 12 they would march out from the back With a tray of raw dough for the pool of hot fat Show up around 1 never get your god back If you're just tuning in, walk into the lightTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
