John Greenham - Saturn Missiles lyrics

Step on the lawn I keep the foot, peep In the pot go six degrees of cooked geese; Boiling, blitz the beach of mushed peas Over ten meat hooks with a blister each I'm all pincer, fevery hoodie-on hoodie-off Sweat through his E.T. sheets to the worry dolls Never met a quiet storm That didn't grow into a choir of colliding horns That go "click click clack" in territorial syntax Sitting on the porch with his lids pinned back Pinball whiz in a thimble of Sims I'm a symbol of whimsy abridged Kiss Me, I'm Dead; nursing a mystery, DayQuil Led Zep staring daggers down page mill How pray tell do he sit pretty? When the old one-two unglue in a tizzy Please hold for the don't-play dull boy Click: I am not a page or a pull toy Came in the door and the floor is lava k**joy if your core more Norman Rockwell Born homesick for an invisible address, batsh** Bumble and bat around catnip One black-heart Katamari ma**ive Packed in a fat category-5 rat nest Nose on his sleeve, holes in his inner peace Robot phone like a tentacle of flippancy I hate you (I hate you more) No, I hate you infinity And Pangaea break into smithereens Interlude presto change-o If it move too quick (oh whey oh) Right brain go write train Ramo Mustache any old Monet, (no) Yes Merrily merrily merrily merrily In a cobweb tomb on a hotbed of heresy Frogmen schooled by the god Ed Emberley Pull dog sleds and exhume Dead Kennedys Bet: moth into kerosene awful A caution to straw men lost on Vaudeville Amorally mixing business With 144 Dixie Whistlers Lawnchair strongman twisted whiskers NASCAR Bic in his missing fingers Outcast from a system of kiss-the-ring-ers Are you privy to the misadventures? It's electric, meeting in the middle of the street With a lethally modified Piccolo Pete There is admittedly an incredible mystique To meddling in the reason a city won't sleep 48 strings of twelve That ring ring ring whiz-bang jingle bells And melt bootleg G.I. Joes to black taffy Cla**ic fire-in-the-hole backdrafting Fold wildlife out of Wolf Pack wrapping Full moon, bad knee, wool hat, caffeine TNT plunger in all-caps ACME Blast off half of the whole damn mapscreen No sling no spear I'm a patchwork of 86'd springs and gears Who been stung by an unlinked pinky swear During his what-in-the-f**-was-I-thinking years Maybe an awkward phase Like his acne and soph*more fade, played Calling all out-of-work action figures It was d**h by Saturn Missiles