Lyrics JJ Sad - Rob Sonic

JJ Sad

Wretch — head full of nicotine
Vibe dealer with the tip receipt
Hot skipper liquor sticks ravine
Sprayed with the Raid and the Listerine
Clean — now he got his beers he’s liable to hang out of the car with the
piercing rifle
Pet peeves and the bleeding Bibles
Let 'em stick two nickles on your ears and eyeholes
Cup — with the tartar chase
Bark with the varmints in the marketplace
For some it’s alarming, to the guard it’s cake
So to me and Bedelia, this is Father’s Day
Spikes with the mice and the worms and snakebit digit
Can you dig it and unearth the aphids?
Riding dirty with the clutch complaining like «Pour some sugar on this dusty
Danish!»
Seek, destroy my arm muscle
Quote the wonderboy «Keep the pinetar subtle»
Cover bolt in the fold of the eyeball buckle
Streaks on the beak of the sidecar… What’ll
It be when the cook got disease in diners that are filled with the illness of
the tea in China
Cold in the mold on the seat beside ya with a rolled up both as a brief reminder
Bitch, you gotta beef with his key components?
Get buried at the beach with the quay patrolmen
Get your geese, tell a teach when a demon’s spoken
Sleep in ya Jeep, get ya sneakers stolen
Art from the Mother of Invention harbors ill will under my electric parka
You can jet with the set and the pension, partner
But you know I’m still coming to get you, Barbara!
It’s Rob Sonic (x 4)
New Eden, the screams lap each other
Free kitty the city stab the stub
Train signal tricking these track-huggers
Got a letter for the government?
E-Fax the fuckers
Pass the butter or have it your own way, ho… Sup?
Watering pot and a gold chainsaw
Feed the fever the fact that he go stray dog
The over/under, son, or you clapped
Sport, you bore me with flash burners
See that you’re a winner or spin in your back stirrups
When it’s gassed hit a bog
He’s starting to act nervous
Walking for the wizard that’s giving these cats courage
Cold pack against his eyelid shiner
Ball broke beast leave a dime and fiver
211 on the ANT with the manic minors
With the Elvis plates, yellow tape, and Danzig lighters
See, the difference is not chance
Tears, sweat, and blood, and the sum of a cult rock fan
Skull and bone and hourly room rocks
Met her at the beach
Leaked out of the blue squad van
At my door is the crazy lady
Says she likes what she’s hearing
But the neighbors hate me
Could I turn it up until they’re raising Hades and then later play some Prince
for the 80's babies?
Heard you got it cheap but your hands are broken
Got taxed twice for the standard postage
On a glass figurine made of tokens
Sleep in your seat get your Wranglers stolen
Horse for the cattle that my posse killed slow
Tin star plastered to my sloppy silk robe
Boarding up the doors
Check the locks and windows
'Cuz I’m clearly not a zombie
But they shot me still, bro…
It’s Rob Sonic (x 4)