A little something plucked from the Port Authority Dunkin’
Fritter still on his fingers, exquisite corpse and curmudgeon
I stick a fork in a forgery like a sword in a stomach
Hit the corner store for cash, and corner formula one-in’
Down to run in to whatever local folklore summon
A pair of horns in the forest, dividing tourist and luggage
Or an apparition back in the building and hacking flat screens
Something a mother could love and monster hunter maltreat
Hallowed be the porterhouse sear, who’s asking?
Oil in the skillet, six minutes each facet, and fat
Pad of butter, had to bat it past the biome
Sometimes you gotta pass a pack of matches to the pyro
And when the pirates eat, ya sneak a rabbit to the coyote
Then plant a couple trees and hope it average to a high note
Behind the door another door, it’s torture to the prying eye
Another four or five, it’s sure to climb to, "My-oh-my."
I die inside and all the whining turn to, "I've arrived.”
My second life I’m like the Lion-O with the light up eyes
Get in line with how we loom in the swamp
It’s where no matter what you grew up on, the future is goth
It’s where no matter what your shoes are, do the hooligan bop
In fact let’s bring out every shoe that we’ve mocked
I was being a ass, splendor bender, in the sauce with the radicals
Clash with the officers, talk to the animals, look

You could be the hero of the whole thing
You could be the watcher in the wait
You could be the likes of which we ain’t seen
Just not today, no not today
Just not today, no not today
Just not today, no not today

The bonobo recognizes its reflection
Immediately followed by the signs of hypertension
And how the science fails you when your scent defies convention
There’s nothing in the text about the ventures I excel in
There’s nothing indirect about the shell that I’m myself in
Or the pelt that I rebel in with the shrunken-head lapel pin
Television with the VCR built-in
It’s where my lady knit a scarf and let the Dark Crystal spin
Warlock summer camp, soup's on all day
Get yourself a spoon before the noodles up and crawl away
Tunnel through the undergrowth, his phone think he on a plane
Duty calls for the baddest brute in Baldur's Gate
Wide-striped rugby, in with a somersault
Out with the golden coin purse and cursed monkey paw
File it with the Bobby Brady tiki
And things that could potentially accommodate a genie
I write postcards from after the afterburner
Where I hope when someone put a backup version on the server
First, but first the block party Hamburglar
Who also fill a thermos up with punch made of sherbert
And skrrrrt, to the moon, the sometimes astronaut’s
3-2-1 ignition like a sunrise at Angkor Wat
Aiming at your avatar, bringing y'all the breaking news
Breaking up your little club, steady ricocheting fools

You could be the hero of the whole thing
You could be the watcher in the wait
You could be the likes of which we ain’t seen
Just not today, no not today
Just not today, no not today
Just not today, no not today
Not today, just not today
Just not today, no no no
Not today