Last In Line Lyrics

Pictures in my locket

Something on my mind

Nothing in my pockets

It's like this I travel to mountains and hike cliffs

To my home inside a mushroom growing on a ficus

Where im drafting up legislature on the backs of driving gloves

Negotiating peace between different packs of hyenas

Throwing parties with grunge goths and catholics

Jellyfishing with SpongeBob and Patrick

Ice cream parlors in a roofied stupor

With a magic conch shell I'm a goofy goober

A rock turns into a car at my command bitch

You don't need a license to drive a sandwich

Dennis on your heels a sundae that smells shitty

On a six day trip to get the crown from shell city

Lead shoes rescinding a red moon

In a race against the clock with Mindy and Neptune

Get yourself sun dried chasing all the rabble off

Defeat the cyclops become a man and ride on the Hasselhoff

Pictures in my locket

Something on my mind

Nothing in my pockets

Standing last in line

Looking at the western

Sky above the sea

All of my ancestors

Staring back at me

Can't decide if I'm an old dog with new tricks

Bird of a feather or bullfrog with loose kicks

Power level over nine million simian

Tripping over laces and kickflip a lillypad

Silly lad prancing who likes berries & cream

Very obscene facilitate a scarier scene

Than freddy Jason and Michael leatherface coming closer

To give you a brand new haircut and a stomach ulcer

Get stranded mobile homes left-handed overtones

Mess you up worse than the wet bandits in home alone

3rd degree burnt and shot with a fucking BB gun

Knocked out and woken up just in Time to see me run

Over to the kitchen and grab me a butcher knife

Ready to turn you into a jigsaw puzzle look-alike

Cut you into pieces and process you into cat food

Femboys turning they heads like "who is that dude?"

Pictures in my locket

Something on my mind

Nothing in my pockets

Standing last in line

Looking at the western

Sky above the sea

All of my ancestors

Staring back at me

I'm chewing mochi balls Popsicles and fried meat

I thought this fucking state was supposed to have a dry heat

Brain dripping out my ears I forgot how this song goes

Was it violins and cellos or trumpets and bongos?

Or something with trombones? I guess I'm funna wing it

Bring it till I got these women screaming out like cunnilingus

I'm gonna sing this then go step on a rat trap

With an improvised explosive device in my backpack

Detonate it in my house come back and paint the floors gold

Become a thousand fireflies flashing Morse code

Transmitting a signal to pandas and polar bears

That we all attack on the day of the solar flare

Put the napkin on your lap hold hands and say graces

Over dinner tables stacked with cellphones and Playstations

And gay Haitians playing tug of war with snails and mantises

Over trails of breadcrumbs leading to dead enchantresses

Pictures in my locket

Something on my mind

Nothing in my pockets

Standing last in line

Looking at the western

Sky above the sea

All of my ancestors

Staring back at me