Bomb the Bass Follow

Foes beware for those who dare.
Inhale balloons of tunes in spoons floating overhead, while I,
step to the dark side of the moon, like a piper at the gates of dawn calling to the fools.
When he, takes a trip through fields of joy, black boots stalk the seeds,
poppy fields following this baby boy.
At last I’ve found my own private Idaho,
a Coney Island of the Land of Cool , and now I think I gotta go.
I rode in upon the London fog, had to ride the six-seventh through the layers of smog.
Feeling, Down By Law like I was Jim Jarmusch.
Pictures in my brain just like Diane Arbus
Too much combustion gets my brain dusted.
Shadows of the pain sucking on a dead man’s brain.
Too much combustion gets my brain dusted.
Shadows of the pain sucking on a young man’s brain.
Too much combustion gets my brain dusted.
Shadows of the pain sucking on a dead man’s brain.
Too much combustion gets my brain dusted.
Shadows of the pain sucking on a young man’s brain.
Feeling lucky like use my sweet,
Generals gathered in their masses at Fort Spleef.
Play naked twister with my twin sister,
Until you’ve walked in my shoes you cannot claim a blister.
Into my lava lamp, perform to Black Sabbath,
Speaking in tongues, so troops start to panic.
Like I was sipping Moloko with the milk bar trippin’,
with the porcelain mannequin, slip nipple drippin’.
Climb through the room with walls of whip cream.
Life in my brain is not as it seems.
Fell in a bowl with Veruca Salt.
Stole a red ring for real, Liverpool lingo.
Bizarre bandit, suffer brain damage.
Underneath the mashed potatoes, the kids hide the cabbage.
Fresh and pure just like a mother’s pearl.
And like the song says, I’m the youngest one with curls.
Too much combustion gets my brain dusted.
Shadows of the pain sucking on a young man’s brain.
Too much combustion gets my brain dusted.
Shadows of the pain sucking on a young man’s brain.
Too much combustion gets my brain dusted.
Shadows of the pain sucking on a young man’s brain.