Through the valley with a howl and a hiss
Every step is like a house on a witch
Any Judas into sappin' how I'm zappin'
Get the trowel and brick
I'm all thought-crime, cowlick and fizz
You could pull up to whatever
Close encounter you want
Catch him with a dozen flowers
Or an owl and wand pick a path, firebrand
Miss him with the hooey
Beleaguer a baddie and add
'em to ratatouille, ooey
I still chief L's on a rooftop
You still need help with your juice box
I'm trouble, you troubleshoot a lot
Cue his blue blockers maneuvering
Through the future shock
Where fam from a differеnt phase of the crawl
Get to stеp up and fail
To communicate through a wall
Maybe it's less about escape and
More a favor to y'all
After waking up with geometry
Engraved in his palm, either way

We are not the same, heaven is a lie
I think you a lame, lemme get a fry
We are in the weeds, begging for a sign
I think you a leech, lemme get a fry

I avoid sunlight, Chuckie
And buckets without fuzzy dice
Money pit's, and sucker shit
And run-ins with the blood of Christ
Unabashed do nothings who do
Nothing but multiply and multiply
Or any hooded reaper out to thumb-a-ride
Desert cottontail hanging from his talons
I been hanging with my demons
Future hanging in the balance
Plan a caper on a napkin
Trading slang into the evening
Drive a tank around Manhattan
What a world, what a world
Broken, bloody, undeterred
Local weather rumbling on some mother
Earth with stomach worms
Current mood bluer than a gummy shark
I should probably learn to move
Around the color bar
I should probably wear some jewelry
Made of human bone
It adds a visual component to
My "you should go"
Thought bubble generally jam packed, with
Dollar sign, exclamation point, ampersand
Hash

We are not the same, heaven is a lie
I think you a lame, lemme get a fry
We are in the weeds, begging for a sign
I think you a leech, lemme get a fry

Miffed, stabbed, and flat dissed
Add a little music and the
Dagger do the twist
I'm a hazard to the mission
Drop a dish in your room tone
Gaffle a bag of taffy, catch
A tag on a tombstone, ey
Get accustomed to the irritated easily
I can not be trusted if
Motherfuckers is Tweedle Dee
Further, everything is either beeping
Or foreseen to be mobile ringing
I can feel my life force leaving me
Flesh a temple of doom
The whole rest go XO, red balloon
Bent spoons from the second I
Could shed the cocoon
To my controversial first fake
Step on the moon at a mile off
Home in on a protein for the goulash
Staring razors at 'em
Shred a actor into udon
Strangers like "gimme 2 of
Dude what are you on?"
A single dose of Woo hah in the Yukon

We are not the same, heaven is a lie
I think you a lame, lemme get a fry
We are in the weeds, begging for a sign
I think you a leech, lemme get a fry

Copyright: Songtrust Ave
Writer(s): IAN BAVITZ, JAMES SIMON