Bring Back Pluto

This is my friend, Tony. He's pretty cool.

Although he's not always so smart.

And then there were eight (then there were eight).

Just like that.

(Bring back Pluto, bring back, bring back Pluto).

In the beginning it was Large Marge sent me

A bet, empty the rent if you can double-park the garbage barge gently

The moon took a second mortgage on the seventh house

Jupiter ain't talk to Mars, he felt the host of rovers, sold him out

Close your mouth, poke your snout over the cloaked aroma cloud

Solar boy elope with couch choking on older Polaroids

Motormouth show for the golden molar toy

Gophers yoke a fish outta water he grows lungs and multiplies

Idol. Once soldering a perfect union

It is vital to calculate any ornery loose ends

If mutiny ensues the aloof is assumed nuisance

The clue is in his vacancy, the proof is in his goosebumps

Maroon the traitors, expecting anchors of edelweiss

Who later learned it may actually be safer to play with knives

I show up late looking project grizzly

Two bowies, a third for throwing, (an accomplished dickweed?)

Nothing, nada, nil, I stuff a lot of pill to gut.

What's the proper rules on stuffing hostages in trucks?

He'll be numb enough to chill before the choppers spill the blood

Buf if I'm not?

Fuck it.

Plug him, Warpy got his goddamn groove back

Jet setting on spec with a dead

The eddy on the roof rack

And miscreants will rubberneck jalopy euthanasia

Which will later be regretted when it's your turn for cremation

And I walk like early man,

Freak a little witch hunt.

Gathering the carnies and exploiting every stigma

The malformed oddities amongst sovereignty's normal

Shall abuse every vice imaginable right before you

All I thought of was the cloven hooved

And how the clip-clip-clopped over the woven roofs

With a nose for commotion and stolen goods

Now tell me what the fuck am I supposed to do

In the meantime

Nine minus one left eight

In the meantime

Nine minus one left eight

In the meantime

Nine minus one left eight

We were busy putting barbs on a large iron gate

They're gonna want his milk money next.

Stare into the glowing eye of Cerberus and grow

Forging of laminates will not repel the quarantined alone

(Someone should finish theese!-Zane)

You ain't shit. This ain't ill.

This is little Russian dolls that get smaller and smaller still.

This is a corpus full of pills, trying to sit still and build.

Cause eight planets bullied number nine until he fell.