Clock Operator, Please Reset the Game Clock to Whatever ft. Fried Monk Lyrics

I heard this band broke up

They had their minds made up

I know the guys, they're lucky, they spent their time with love

I toe tap in the end zone, flash in the pan say what?

It's just me, myself, and narrators

At least the stairway's up

Burden on my shoulders' worth two in the books

I got the chupacabra newest model chewing them up

I'm in the fuselage loosening up

I've got the souvenir tucked, I'm not snooping enough

You can keep your flat rate, I'm not priority mail

Already scared despite the fact that the horror already aired

History repeats and onomatopoeia flares

I don't compare to these economy squares

Clock operator, please reset the game clock to whatever you think's fair

And I know that's subjective

Drum break 'cause I hate the norm, you hate Monday's

Hate's a strong word but the weak love how it tastes

Slowly heading home, Frank Zappa in my suitcase

Never too many people occupying the same space

My brain waves are like microwaves

Front of house engineer hyping up the bassist from the other day

Double duty at the underplay

Earplugs a dollar, pay for me

I'll get you back at the pizza place

Public place, keep it together and beat the weather

Bucket hat framing the measure to be aware of

Check into the lobby, my opinions got married

Mic check, the jump scare is not scary