Freezer Food - Rob Sonic

Bobby bomb drums

Rumble before they dig you up

To the back of every city bus

Hazzard County Duke of Earl

With Sterling shoes and filthy tusks

The cat of Coney Island

Holy diving in the Dixie cup

Slow your role

Precious put the basket up

The little tykes are tearing out

The heir apparent cash for

Bang the 808

Flash the fang and pass the blood

It ain’t about you Pokey

Put your left foot in and pull back and up

Follows move with urgency

The perfect end to the perfect day

Scotch tape your pieces closed

Leak below, don’t work that way

Daily wage, market up

Our largest cup of

Salt in the wound of a vaulted doom

And an altar where the murder is made

Bleeding Heart heart

But I cut the line I’m standing in

foot flooring

With no mind of what a standard is

Barrel roll our carpet out

Go for broke and the open joke

And the hope of fucking Tanner twins

It happens his passion

Is fastened to a plastic tray

From the feeling of the acetate

Door gets closed, so two roll

In up on a Captain’s cape

Get a to fuck you and him

And I know what the exact to pay

The match that’s made in hell

Bellhop hat and sunken gaze

Lunch wagon bragging

About his racquetball and funnel cake

Touch of class

Touching slacks

Tugging back his stunna shade

Bobby 505, Famous Amos, Stainless Tungsten Blades

My business in this bomb start with one part iron

Two part Rocky Road with knobby nose tires

One part leaky beacon, all Paul Ryan

A half ton bomb on an all carb diet

Fires don’t burn

But we sure do from me to you

A little gasoline tapestry

With a magic bean and the evening news

Easy chair

Got a week to spare

What it means to wear

What the preachers do

Ice Ice Baby like the Legionnaires' and freezer food

No I don’t think I fit

And don’t belong in this place

Them loonies with them uniforms

They talk differently

It’s risky sitting

Pious, quiet auctioned away

When the benches brawl

And sentence walls have all been erased

A brand new day

Has been shipped in on the way down

Buck, buck, buck

Get my children off the playground

Hey now handkerchief

Bunker calling A-Wax

Unfortunate under the porch again

With the Porky Pigs and stray cats

On our way, running fast

Crashed into the Krispy

Kreme/C.R.E.A.M get the money

But somebody must have missed me

Kiss me, wish me luck

Make sure my hair was tidy

When I was amiss, many judged me quick

And then changed the locks behind me

Karma at it’s best

While the rest of us were speaking

And the farmer’s ho is sleeping

We burgle, rang, and rung

Took one last look

And then took that shit for granted

Hand it over slow like

Let me know when fun’s here

No blame will be placed

No good fun without the Frontiers

Capture flag for burning

A whole platoon’s cabana

Kids in charge with the KISS collage

And the pistol’s Arm & Hammered

Stare into his wheat

Until he sneaked into the coatroom

Rummage through the pockets

Of the doctor’s dose to Toadstool

What he saw, then he brushed them off

But he clutched his jaw and fixed it

Now he plays for keep but you can save the meek

Because I inherit this bitch

(Please)