| The morning I set sail on a whalebone
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| the gale. |
| force winds made the sky grow
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| and I was far out in the ocean
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| when I cut the roof of my mouth on the potion
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| down down down went the femur
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| I let my backbone slide in the ether
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| laying low in a tropical hideout
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| if anyone finds out; |
| I’ll turn their lights out
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| subtitle: where there’s a will there’s a whalebone (way to go) you’ll never know
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| I set sail that morning and I may not come back know lay low
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| in a hideout just to bust you- tropical
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| it’s neurotic and exotic
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| with yet another broke down (bone) incidental
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| not accidental
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| when facts track the mental
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| even within movement they know, even with the solitary movement
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| words get arranged for maximum deployment
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| words mean will
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| where there’s a whalebone then there’s a
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| tale gone wrong
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| young gang on a boat
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| it’s the same song
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| same quote
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| nature stretches it out note by note
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| It’S a new state, you don’t know the nomenclature, the governor has status with
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| the cutting apparatus
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| and that is half the battle
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| they can’t think of how to absorb us, they can’t thing of how to solve me
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| let’s see
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| a cancerous mix of young pirates for kicks- signed,
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| seated C.(L.)(T.)G.
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| in congealed blood
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| this is all on the surreal
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| don’t appeal to the side where the law resides
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| after all that, it’s a separatist homicide
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| rappers try to cultivate carbon monoxide
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| you tried to get entranced by the folks that try to get us by hap-happenstance.
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| busdriver: frame our press shots with a whale sternum
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| and a dolphin femur, band breather lab tech with a solvent
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| in a broken beaker, yell in boom mics and moonlight as a coffin cleaner
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| then poolside I food fight with Hollywood anorexics
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| I’m in a crew of pallbearers and ambidextrous foosball players
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| we got pool hall flair, remove all layers of industry pretension
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| and augmented physical attributes
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| because I’m blanketed in nude doll hair
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| but with these styles we’re shrewd on-air
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| so we’ve been annexed to an annexed isle
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| by the radio programmer, half — man reptile
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| that church of satin bible study tutor choir boy
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| prefers the works that are uninspired and coy
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| but uhh Driver’s ploy is to show a lot of follow through
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| wearing a monocle coming out a fiery void
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| collecting style in rental late fees
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| they never return it after the test drive
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| infatuated by a robots breast size
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| we ain’t entertained by balloon animals
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| marooned on our tropical safe haven
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| everyday is a paid vacation
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| In the evening I arrived on a wishbone
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| so I wished all the stars would go home
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| but one was a dog with its tail drawn
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| it wagged (laughed) as it shed, now its long gone
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| I remember the flavour
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| but I made a choice to stay here
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| laying low in a tropical hide-out
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| if anyone finds out, I’ll turn their lights out |