
i don't want my head to explode this tuesday morning // feed them all to the dogs Lyrics
- Genre:Alternative
- Year of Release:2024
Lyrics
Minimalist sweat shop art, signed sad Fitzgerald
Lipton Chicken Noodle Soup, Christmas carols
She's a back door woman, she makes me do handstands
But she'll never make me a lady bug
Or a wicker chair
Was that good?
We're rolling?
Swallowed searching for, synonyms of sweet
Coin operated sailors tiptoe around on
Ballerina feet
What's the use in callused fingers, if your hands aren't blue
Who'd-a thunk I'd ever win a hog caller trophy for someone like you
Where's my, prescription pair of, groucho glasses
It seems that the good times like to come, slow as molasses
Wouldn't be surprised to hear they got, hunted down by serotonin assassins
I Don't want my head to explode this Tuesday morning
I Don't want my head to explode this Tuesday
Morning
I don't want my head to explode this Tuesday morning
I don't want my head to explode this Tuesday morning
When will the spiders hatch today
They're blowing hurricanes away
They're watching hearts and palm trees sway
When will I get it right
When can I run the tape again
When can I finally have a win
With splinters shining in your shins
When can I lose the fight
What time will gravity fail me
Will I have died in submarines
Or seen what little sights to see
When can I sleep tonight
Feed them all to the dogs
Feed them all to the dogs
Feed them all to the dogs
Feed them all to the dogs
Feed them all to the dogs
Feed them all to the dogs
Feed them all to the dogs
Feed them