parachute pants and the ladys with the tube tops
cookin up the kibble, it's time to feast
stems with their flowers sitting by the wall
the lamp's in the attic, but we're all in the hall
ruler and rollers, they're all about the same
sticks and stones aren't meant to rack your brain

If you think about it
It'll scramble your thoughts, upturn your dress
So don't think about it
you might turn out all right
turn out all right I guess
The scissors that chop through the souls of the Earth
Though the globe was born in a circular birth
their criteria for life is a womb and a gun
baby thesaurus won't ever learn to crawl