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you got the sideways grip i'm about to flip your backdrop dizzy spell 
puttin' 
dents in the padlock cold defying the laws of slingshot a white picket 
fence 
to separate the stones you stand on before the tide comes in on the 
early dawn 
the light bulb spins on the horn rims you blister in the sun you're just a 
salt bag spill another salt bag spill cause it's a green jean battle from 
the 
burlap i break your ribs and it's full contact vagabonds you start a war 
but 
we're the cream of the crop and you're the cream of the corn crash 
collide and 
no good comeback flash in the pan like a burnt short stack but we've 
got the 
butter to let your mud slide you're slippin' on down for the test of time 
so 
i'm pitching my fork in mr. rourke you get the trap door with sawdust 
splinters pepper in the jar gettin' served that dinner slam you like a 
screen 
door keepin' out the terminal condition you get the oatmeal bath 
you're out of 
commission you're tarred and feathered and covered in lacquer and 
your head's 
in a bucket that's ringing with laughter

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