Boombox

Raw, I'm going to give it to you

With no trivia

Raw like that Aesop rock iron-fisted list militia

While bent funny bone grown community

Spit a thousand and 1 ripples to cripple the continuity

Tap water builds character

Right I irrigate it straight to mainline

You want to do the same? Fine

These pretty profit grommet teams solidify the clot to slippery city salt piston pump drain

But hold those incredible console with the Russian roulette baboon spin-off

Where everyday a thousand strangers pray for empty chambers

One-sixth buckle

Five Sixths sweat bullets trying to keep it subtle

But I'll get you (I'm going to get you)

Wobbly rope bridge

Broke inches tired of dry land

But duck skull stepping-stones suit the mix-down well

Well, when the rumor spreads that y'all stupid

I'll be the cat with guilty look on face and shirt that reads: I didn't do it!

Is it on, is it beyond basic

Does it ice grill you or is every song faceless?

Does it have a title? If didn't would you name it?

Does it babble about nothing like a drunken atheist?

We could run that Orwells '84 war

For the room 1 on 1 z-tour

Till he try and fidgets with his or her own work spear specifics

Swerve around the cobra kisses

See if the venom overloads this vision

I'm going to suck the poison out and spit it

Stole my sneakers but your features never fit in

Servers you right for trying to walk a mile outside your limits

I'm going to tiptoe across this yo-yo string

Until you walk the dog out from under my feet and skip town, sit down

(Chorus)

It goes boom boom boom

Boombox

Earth to a-r vertical burden has increased at an alarming rate

Bliss is down a point

Murder up, glee down and still falling

Still crawling out of bed at 2 on Saturdays

Came this blind soldier-burning confessional

Ease back; let a heart thump echo normalcy for 10

Let the back burner boiling point descend

I race the derby in the first heat (strike personal)

Strike personal space with the most utterly putrid version of grace

Spit the gimmick, sit and fidget

While we try and jump through hoops

Like Coney Island freak show midgets

Want to be a fighter pilot

Driving that childish early Wright brothers experiment

Prototypic model fossil

Sit and sweat bullets on a console

Busting accidental dirt bike donuts

Outside the most ridiculous poison tongue brain silo

Dead before the chubby debutaunt conquered the high note

Schooled by the cruel intention inventions pensive sideshow

See contrary to popular certainty

I alone advance without an earthly poem

And dance on a handful of zoning fans

Holding every chance to own the land I roam

With dome in hands

Truly be its only camper happy with the scrap heap

See I convinced myself it's on

Therefore it is and the melody settles

Beneath the fact that I'm just spitting for these kids

I tried to get them all open

And once I quit and said I didn't care

I swear they all threw their hands up in the air

(Chorus)

It goes boom boom boom

Boombox