Chorus, Verse, Chorus-Daedelus

Busdriver & (Radioinactive) Today’s weather is a glazed beverage with a grave emphasis on the strange letter bridge and the dames we assist when we exchange leadership Put the change in the meter bitch Y’all can eat some zebra shit with a fork and knife and tartar sauce It’s the corporate plight of Haagen-Dazs To pour Coors Light on the cotton clothes (Busdriver) Of people who bring flat screens to book burnings And put earnings in the soiled pampers of oil canvas painters (Radioinactive) Painting pictures of people with mixtures of evil watered down with a gospel crown I don't think we're in Kansas anymore (Busdriver) I don’t think we’re in Timbuktu Get a lip-tuck tit-reduction big-butt-lip-o-suction at the annual bible luncheon (Radioinactive) I pull stunts in With an eyeball crunched grin Why not wear a waterproof necktie to the function Do what you gotta do Go to Lake Havasu to cook some rabbit stew and have an old lady gab at you Busdriver & (Radioinactive) The Weather will talk your head off The parking attendant will park your attention span against the demented plan of a white ninja in Japan with Red Cross medical coverage Our legible smudges are well received like health-conscious women dressing their husbands Drinking vegetable slushes I disassemble my musket over an instrumental of Milli Vanilli The caterpillars are willing to kill me The castle builders are building a villa for women and children are living in limited numbers with primitive plumbers An innocent mother is giving a pilgrim some supper Busdriver & (Radioinactive) Today’s forecast is that you’ll be suffering a pain in your lower back You can not get on this plane without a boarding pass You should drink a quart of gas It’s interesting how nuclear warheads laugh As Hercules’ forehead is smashed on a wall of weather That’s why we wear these koala sweaters like they were tailored Let’s save a whaler from major failure in a Vegas trailer Page your dealer Pay the waiter for a plate of tatters Irritate your neighbors by real estating acres near a lake where ravers get earaches from lasers Bearded naked bathers get near the sacred savior to hear the tape deck player cold front We’re to old to smoke blunts So we promote funk that make’s adults hump We catapult jump