Lyric Salt Bag Spill

you got the sideways grip i m about to flip your backdrop dizzy spell
puttin
dents in the padlock cold defying the laws of slingshot a white picket
fence
to separate the stones you stand on before the tide comes in on the
early dawn
the light bulb spins on the horn rims you blister in the sun you re just a
salt bag spill another salt bag spill cause it s a green jean battle from
the
burlap i break your ribs and it s full contact vagabonds you start a war
but
we re the cream of the crop and you re the cream of the corn crash
collide and
no good comeback flash in the pan like a burnt short stack but we ve
got the
butter to let your mud slide you re slippin on down for the test of time
so
i m pitching my fork in mr. rourke you get the trap door with sawdust
splinters pepper in the jar gettin served that dinner slam you like a
screen
door keepin out the terminal condition you get the oatmeal bath
you re out of
commission you re tarred and feathered and covered in lacquer and
your head s
in a bucket that s ringing with laughter