[Lyric] Its Nothing New To Me (Chester P)

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