Lyrics

I'd rather whistle tunes with the birds I'm in a room without a view The only truth to observe Is mutually served I'm usually first in the queue to boo for me Brutally verse slaying every muse that recruited me Serving these words very beautifully Attached to every batch I dispatch It's nothing new to me Still living out of a flat It's nothing new to me Cats need a person to scratch It's nothing new to me Look, your whole movements like Muesli Usually I personify the very person that I choose to be Eyelash the pumpkin patch cruiser for my jubilee Drove it through the sewer like a tour bus frugally And fruitfully kept it on the cheap 'til the bugle free Cover seeds hanging from the altar like my Buddha beads Swarming through the morning with manoeuvres like manuka bees Stay dairy free pour Kahlua like it's soup for me Barefaced trickery picturing what it took of me To chew the lead free from my shadow pack crookery Arrow packed crookedly Police hate the look of me What yo? It's nothing to watch I stand stupidly Attached to every batch I dispatch It's nothing new to me Still living out of my flat It's nothing new to me Cats need a body to scratch It's nothing new to me Look, you get taxed like the Macks in the truth to be Tapped into maths and it's Back To The Future P Words don't hang so well on deaths eulogy Newly seen scrutiny bounty upon the mutiny I move like king of the fuse light Still in the news like I'm Wonder Boy Wings on my shoes I'm gone I'm like the clingsman of road I stay stringent as I binge on the fringe of the goal Like a drunk Klinsmann Skunk dipped thinking for real I slump vacant in a dump vagrant Front stays brighter than a young craven When the sun comes the undead are sunbathing They're in a deck chair listening to young Satan Drumming all his dumb faking crumb taking Tongue making numb statements On the radio for slum ratings I'm a sun blessed gun stressed pagan Best served messy with dressings of young maidens Broadly casted outlast John Craven I'm like Seymour Butts with the slum vagrants Rob a crumb from the wrong side of the wrong placement Listening to gong going mad over bongs blazing This song's taking too long the bonds breaking Chaos into songs baking prayers in a Fonz apron You're a bronze chasing gold in the mold down a long pavement My hold's solid like it's Kong scraping His unshaven knuckles on the ground with his gums shaking I compound with my lungs quaking Strung highly run by me when you're done chafing I splutter when I speak at these dumb patrons Still living out of my flat It's nothing new to me Cats need a body to scratch It's nothing new to me Look, you get taxed like the Macks in the truth to be Tapped into maths and it's Back To The Future P Raps Eulace soon to be a crumb chasing free basing Sitting with the junkies in the trunk waiting Coily at the pump station thinking of a rump shaking Summer into snow globes toe blowing hump tasting Sweeter than a hundred sugar lumps heading cunch chased in Dragons up the vestibules for vegetables for lunch Taking place on a hunch breaking boundaries on a bump making Truman on a blunt vaping trumps outta months vacant I was sniffing all the Moomins with a drunk matron chumps I'm in front of any stuntman Knievel faking Spock headed Octopussy Power to the people taking place in a pacemaking fashion like a tortured ogre Grounded eagles watching the distorted cobras Drowning beacons in an ocean of controlled remoteness Grounded eagles watching the distorted cobras