Good or bad, I got somethin' you're gonna feel.
No tellin' what surprise is in yo' happy meal.
Got news for Atkins, phatty verbal starches.
Like pale paisley people prayin' to golden arches,
Or secret house-speak token spoken word
Smokin' understood, ain't doin', ya know good.
But, Ya bought tickets to the real life,
supposedly between the lines.
Like we're all backseat drivers
on someone else's drivin' time.
He know the way we're so proud to help him find.
Beltbuckles the bestial behemoth, binds belching brew's borrowed brine.
We all love lines that remind us what we did tonight.
'Cause this always sounds just like the one time,
I lost my mind.
Copyright © C Sowder | Year Posted 2005
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