Texas Fontanella

Money without twinkle

Got more weed than my grandma's lawn

I'd sell it to you but I'm fan of the law

's never really arbitrary

cone up half a tree

they just give weed and take money without even asking

please

leave me a single cone and twinkle those littles lies that keep the engine running for the civilized stitch up

flow off the

history is now so the issue is how

to toke it out into

the wide open spaces may be fried but, friends,

we'll open cages with pages (or was it pagers) I

don't want to pay just

to live like this all the bricks

I did were just the foundations

of an even bigger con

sists of stations

I sound litter on the way

to

Damascus I picked it up but then they whacked us cremated us and racked us like a rolling stone

like a folding bone

pick up the phone

stick up the throne

gonna have to clone

a perfect alibi up

quick

part of us is gonna sky rocket

to Hades

cock block the ladies

hot box the navy

rat sack the

lately

I've been struggling to deal

even drugs

when always you feel

your mind leaving sucks

the meaning away somewhere

And it psychs me out

Of all the photo sets too rare

You say that part is painless (according to me)

Thoughts prowl tho, orderly

And they're all of a dying breed with me slow

Through daisy blotter eyes popping out like balloons no

Good would start (or was it star?) to get longitude

Not saved, but deleted by the bell

Towers sell what's wrong with you flowers which I load

Up to date but, trust drought et cetera

the people of this nebula

with my bugged mouth speaking through the sneakers while I sneak in through the speakers and raze it into funk town's pure flowers of evol

doublespeak, a Johnathon thrift, I

Get on with the riff, look up at the sun and know times change faster than youth, who's gonna be rich from plastering youse?

I both set up and upset the standard

Tuning your girl just cause I'm good looking glass forward to being the most rancid

Been stalk doing this for nights now

Gonna suspend your disbelife now

Time won't tell; time will no comment

Cross his arms and vomit

The only thing up my sleeve is a red flag, yo

But I swear jar I'm not as good as my dead dad jokes

Malice is my wonderland along with what's in my underpants

Put a hand or two up if that you understand

I wear Qantas cos I'm frequently flyer, but now with you guys, I'm gonna land,

higher

Homolka Eyes

Overexposed ya. She knows just what it takes to make a sovereign

All the toys blink she’s a spy

She’s got Homolka eyes

And gaslights like she gonna make dinner which she ain’t

Fast lane unlike all the food she didn’t ate

Look too long & her iris pixelates

Any step picked & it's too late

Leave ya dumb, struck; the accord has a big delay

She rents other minds to get up2 a bigger place

don’t do it cos she knows there ain't no better place

Be'd the director so they couldn’t place her centre stage

So stubborn got rid of her she still didn’t went away

Said wasn’t there; we was mental case

Now you call me Pete Murray; I seen better days

Could've mentored the race, 'stead dementored my page

Demented, enraged, demanding our day back

Give you the shits but don’t say bout the payback

Like shit - we wasn’t meant to say that

But my erasures was always dated (or was it fated?)

Win tarot cut it out like the rest of us on the playback

Overexposed ya. She knows just what it takes to make a sovereign

All the toys wink she’s a spy

She’s got Homolka eyes

Attitude without conviction's the grime for which we’re convicted

Getting class the war for which we was conscripted

Haven’t touched the page, but still manage to rip it

Wasn’t told the sitch , still manage to trip it

Got nothing , or the money to trick it

Count metaphor cards like they was my Fitbit

Ain’t IBS; i'm just always shitted. I see a gap, I've got to bridge it

If things move up, got to stitch it

Up2 a test done, sif praise, ya gotta bitch it

Average as a Bridget, or why I’m not rich yet

Mean like girls, or why I want ditch heads

I didn't do it, only the litmus

May be the killer, but I’m mainly the witness

to Karla Homolka eyes, sipping kalimocho, guys

say she only been loco just twice

And she don’t need mobilise; her and her mouth got mobile lies

We don’t need guns, nah, just load the shite

Overexposed ya. She knows just what it takes to make a sovereign

All the toys drink she’s a spy

She’s got Homolka eyes

She’ll tell snitches you snitched, bitches you bitched

Distributors 'bout the batches you botched

The heroine the meth you shot

It up, a made to order bed that rots

I know even less than I'm letting on

Said I getting up when I was getting on

Ain't it a nice day for a white trash wedding? the song

Entered my circle to make sure I wouldn’t belong

Burgle my mind, so I might be long

Stole the dawn just so night could be strong

Theory long enough and naught be strange

Made me a zero b' now nought’s changed

Together out there, but joined in finity

Splitting like a tongue or infinitive

It changes colours like autumn - criminal

The postmodern’s post-mortem gone official

It's loose as a goose and setting up from signal to jest go on mauling ya vigils

I overexposed ya, and I know just what it takes to mock a sovereign

All the toys link she’s a spy

She’s got Homolka eyes

You can bet the Queen of Odds

Will laugh, “Off with her headspace”

And have us run till stuck in the same place

It’s so she gets to checkmate (out)

Even though she doesn’t play lots (oow)

I’ve got a maquillage of anarchy for you at the rodeo and every slow dance has been saved to USB so

Sane it hurts to consider voting no the clouds're gathering below like pillows talk

About blowing the globes on, and doing it, if I may bellow, without any clothes on

Heads and frozen tales of woah your reputation proceeds without you and the likelihood's up, dude

It's dereliction of booty - from, this time, Russia with lurk

To the side - Happies' thrown up a status go

between the lines and berserker

Did the trick shot by a mate ship of lost sales steep

Ing off the plonk, deserts Bloomian 'neath our feat-

ured artist is just so down to Pluto I'd love to meet you could score five stars made of Play Do'h go firster it's lust

revenue raising the dead on my feed were mad for walking

Out

Empty-hearted and crashed

How you

Swore at me till death do matter of factly art your legs stall fellow me around about time to press play with some maw intention, but also by era

Witch is creaky, starvation for thought

I I was on the rote not using rugs just people as bad as Kerouac would wart, but it was on the root of all evol that I herd the hordes

all of them want to drool the word, but, Mary, only you take it satisfyingly under

whirled, I'm getting reddy to drink! I'm in love potions! and

The hole notion fakes

Flighty thing it is,

No?