Hook:
Smoking cigarrettes to lay back like I am a gurney
Andy Kaufman died of lung cancer in his early 30s
You've got a clock
That you don't know a whole lot about
But still run your mouth like a professor on the art of hurting
Harping from an armchair til we're hard of hearing
The God-fearing argument is hardly working
You've got a clock
That you don't know a whole lot about
But still run your mouth like a professor on the art of hurting
Like a professor on the art of hurting
Like a professor on the art of hurting
The mic's a crook and Im a shepherd who's a bard of herding
The Alchemist the lone lark with its arms unfurling
Your man said you couldn't and you lost your groove
Hands on the sticks but you're shooken and forgot the moves
In my mind
Recesses are a plenty vault
And recess is playing tether ball with a metronome
The outer rim rusts like a metal wheel
So of the lust-directed sex appeal skeptical's
The disposition
Don't remiss the intuition
Motion picture's a distraction
Soul's hidden in the intermission
The body finishes the coalition
So grow dismissive of the Benz with remote ignition
Grow indifferent like a Hampsterdam prohibition
And cold shoulder non-go getter toads who don't know the mission
Hold the torch, Prometheus in the old Olympics
Let go of sprinting, marathon the road go the distance
The Emerald don't [gotta be] told so to know it glistens
Soak the kitchen in midnight oil [enough] to roast a chicken
Pack a punch like Diddy Kong when someone's stolen Dixie
Flow like cascades in Misty mountains or Cerulean city
Hook
Smoking cigarrettes to lay back like I am a gurney
Andy Kaufman died of lung cancer in his early 30s
You've got a clock
That you don't know a whole lot about
But still run your mouth like a professor on the art of hurting
Harping from an armchair til we're hard of hearing
The God-fearing argument is hardly working
You've got a clock
That you don't know a whole lot about
But still run your mouth like a professor on the art of hurting
Like a professor on the art of hurting
Like a professor on the art of hurting
The mic's a crook and Im a shepherd who's a bard of herding
The Alchemist the lone lark with its arms unfurling
Your man said you couldn't and you lost your groove
Hands on the sticks but you're shooken and forgot the moves
In my mind
Recesses are a plenty vault
And recess is playing tether ball with a metronome
The outer rim rusts like a metal wheel
So of the lust-directed sex appeal skeptical's
The disposition
Don't remiss the intuition
Motion picture's a distraction
Soul's hidden in the intermission
The body finishes the coalition
So grow dismissive of the Benz with remote ignition
Grow indifferent like a Hampsterdam prohibition
And cold shoulder non-go getter toads who don't know the mission
Hold the torch, Prometheus in the old Olympics
Let go of sprinting, marathon the road go the distance
The Emerald don't [gotta be] told so to know it glistens
Soak the kitchen in midnight oil [enough] to roast a chicken
Pack a punch like Diddy Kong when someone's stolen Dixie
Flow like cascades in Misty mountains or Cerulean city
Hook
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