My Miss Phonia brought the faders up now.
She's a military grade, in dolby surround, around 5.
1.
Cue the barking from the baritone.
Conductor in the pit for the car honk duet.
Half-tone harmony from the sewer.
Rebel youth quier belt phrases even newer.
Dump truck man drops the beat with the trash cans, call 9 11!
We got therapy demands, Philharmonic got a first chair car crash.
Pan the falsetto to smash the glass.
It's a drive-by lullaby that couldn't get worse.
A melody abandoned in the key of New York.
Where nothing comes after I'm a passtime streamer, hanging from the rafters - I don't get out
I don't have fun
Livin' like a captive of the sun
Sight read the chart clap the rocks into sand.
A 12-pass van, on a pothole band stand.
Got an oil can hangover by default, and trucks pave the roads with amphetamine salt.
Skull shakin' cadence of the J train rolls the rythm of defeat, repeating like a pulse, marching on and static, lyrics shout a retort into the melody abandoned in the key of new york.
Writer(s): Andrew Christopher Savage, Sean Matthew Yeaton, Maxwell Oliver Savage, Austin Bradley Brown
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