(Super fresh)



My spirit animal comes with a pretzel bun

Troll of the treadmill

Record on the Kessel Run (allegedly)

Edgy from elevensies to megabucks

Techies with the treble down

This is how we level up

Dead meat, time travel, pressure, and disease

Ass ushered out of two fingers pecking at the keys

The coping mechanism in his LMNOPs

Went from healthy to unhealthy to a hell he never leaves

Cineplex jesus, curse at the curly fries

Mullin' over Chuck D, telling me, "Diversify"

I'm at the SuperCuts supin' up the wardrobe

Forecast looking like Ganesh on four phones

"Hello, hello, hello, hello"

Base camp, space camp

Bass in your face-f**k, brace for the rain dance

Back in the back of the classroom

After a magical nap in a vacuum



Act natural, whatever that means for ya

Whatever that means for ya

Whatever that

Ah (Fresh)



Before climbing douchebag mountain, I was skate or die

Started eatin' kale and came to terms with my lazy eye

Puttin' on the yoga lady, cuttin' off the cable guy

Whistle while you're waiting for your condition to stabilize

AV cables everywhere, every piece of vinyl scratched

Mentholated tiger balm, Aleve with the arthritis cap

Irons in the niacin, iron choir riot masked

Unabashed privacy expanding into simulcast

40 winks, never the same adventure

Refreshing with a sing-a-long of stexicism ever

In the end, gotta wonder if it's even worth the effort

No stairways into heaven, you can step into the Escher

Some people have mistaken my allegiance for a weakness

It f**ked me up for eons, I wish there was a theist

The type that fake his death then forget he faked his death

Show up on TV, in the crowd at the AVNs, like...



Act natural, whatever that means for ya

Whatever that

(Fresh)



Sometimes I feel my heart putrefying inside my body

From diary of the dark to piety in the ponzi

On my better days and then mingle and walk off into the poppy

On my worst, work is overshadowed by the monty

Had to buy some clothes that fit me

And pretend I like agave

With a promise to his congress not to compromise the motley in him

Maybe I should kinda sorta move to Mars

I'm feeling kinda done, too many moving parts

The piss poor vision is forty percent floaters

The kitchen is a chorus of glorious leftovers

The friends you confessed all the dark shit to

Would weaponize the information before we could send roses

And they want a little pearl in how he got to where we at

I can't remember where I am, I feel it's probably a trap

Balk with the lawless, cough in his notes

Walk on even when the walls hug his coat



Oh and act natural, whatever that means for ya

Whatever that means for ya

Whatever that means for ya

(Fresh)