(R. Pollard — J. Pollard)
8 stone Sunday lobster
Subway cars roll in
Building of coffins
Build me a coffin
Pour me some coffee
White house radar readings
«The last text on village firearms»
My dad eats shit and barks at the moon
And Mr. Gene-o holds the spoon — he said so
Sun-tanned bodies floating in ice cream
Worries carried away — hey
On distant mushroom clouds
I talk very loud
He says «Mind your manners»
I do, but don’t think so
My dad eats shit and barks at the moon
And Mr. Gene-o holds the spoon — he said so
I eat with my hands
He says «Pray for forgiveness»
I do but don’t think so
I bark at the moon
He says «Stay within reach»
I do
I do but don’t think so
I do Mr. Gene-o
I do but don’t think so
I do Mr. Gene-o
Fuck you Mr. Gene-o