| Bobby bomb drums
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| Rumble before they dig you up
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| To the back of every city bus
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| Hazzard County Duke of Earl
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| With Sterling shoes and filthy tusks
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| The cat of Coney Island
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| Holy diving in the Dixie cup
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| Slow your role
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| Precious put the basket up
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| The little tykes are tearing out
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| The heir apparent cash for
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| Bang the 808
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| Flash the fang and pass the blood
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| It ain’t about you Pokey
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| Put your left foot in and pull back and up
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| Follows move with urgency
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| The perfect end to the perfect day
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| Scotch tape your pieces closed
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| Leak below, don’t work that way
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| Daily wage, market up
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| Our largest cup of
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| Salt in the wound of a vaulted doom
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| And an altar where the murder is made
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| Bleeding Heart heart
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| But I cut the line I’m standing in
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| foot flooring
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| With no mind of what a standard is
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| Barrel roll our carpet out
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| Go for broke and the open joke
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| And the hope of fucking Tanner twins
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| It happens his passion
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| Is fastened to a plastic tray
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| From the feeling of the acetate
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| Door gets closed, so two roll
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| In up on a Captain’s cape
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| Get a to fuck you and him
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| And I know what the exact to pay
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| The match that’s made in hell
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| Bellhop hat and sunken gaze
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| Lunch wagon bragging
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| About his racquetball and funnel cake
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| Touch of class
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| Touching slacks
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| Tugging back his stunna shade
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| Bobby 505, Famous Amos, Stainless Tungsten Blades
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| My business in this bomb start with one part iron
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| Two part Rocky Road with knobby nose tires
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| One part leaky beacon, all Paul Ryan
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| A half ton bomb on an all carb diet
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| Fires don’t burn
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| But we sure do from me to you
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| A little gasoline tapestry
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| With a magic bean and the evening news
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| Easy chair
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| Got a week to spare
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| What it means to wear
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| What the preachers do
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| Ice Ice Baby like the Legionnaires' and freezer food
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| No I don’t think I fit
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| And don’t belong in this place
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| Them loonies with them uniforms
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| They talk differently
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| It’s risky sitting
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| Pious, quiet auctioned away
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| When the benches brawl
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| And sentence walls have all been erased
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| A brand new day
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| Has been shipped in on the way down
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| Buck, buck, buck
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| Get my children off the playground
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| Hey now handkerchief
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| Bunker calling A-Wax
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| Unfortunate under the porch again
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| With the Porky Pigs and stray cats
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| On our way, running fast
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| Crashed into the Krispy
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| Kreme/C.R.E.A.M get the money
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| But somebody must have missed me
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| Kiss me, wish me luck
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| Make sure my hair was tidy
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| When I was amiss, many judged me quick
|
| And then changed the locks behind me
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| Karma at it’s best
|
| While the rest of us were speaking
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| And the farmer’s ho is sleeping
|
| We burgle, rang, and rung
|
| Took one last look
|
| And then took that shit for granted
|
| Hand it over slow like
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| Let me know when fun’s here
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| No blame will be placed
|
| No good fun without the Frontiers
|
| Capture flag for burning
|
| A whole platoon’s cabana
|
| Kids in charge with the KISS collage
|
| And the pistol’s Arm & Hammered
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| Stare into his wheat
|
| Until he sneaked into the coatroom
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| Rummage through the pockets
|
| Of the doctor’s dose to Toadstool
|
| What he saw, then he brushed them off
|
| But he clutched his jaw and fixed it
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| Now he plays for keep but you can save the meek
|
| Because I inherit this bitch
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| (Please) |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Freezer Food, artist - Rob Sonic. Album song Alice in Thunderdome, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп