puttin?
 dents in the padlock cold defying the laws of slingshot a white picket
 fence
 to separate the stones you stand on before the tide comes in on the
 early dawn
 the light bulb spins on the horn rims you blister in the sun you?re just a
 salt bag spill another salt bag spill cause it?s a green jean battle from
 the
 burlap i break your ribs and it?s full contact vagabonds you start a war
 but
 we?re the cream of the crop and you?re the cream of the corn crash
 collide and
 no good comeback flash in the pan like a burnt short stack but we?ve
 got the
 butter to let your mud slide you?re slippin? on down for the test of time
 so
 i?m pitching my fork in mr. rourke you get the trap door with sawdust
 splinters pepper in the jar gettin? served that dinner slam you like a
 screen
 door keepin' out the terminal condition you get the oatmeal bath
 you?re out of
 commission you?re tarred and feathered and covered in lacquer and
 your head?s
 in a bucket that?s ringing with laughter