Bag Lunch

Lyrics for Bag Lunch

Banana slices over Captain Crunch, that’s what’s up Elmer Fudd harassing Daffy Duck, that’s what's up The magic touch is aptly wrapped up in his rabbit punch Attackers dumping hazmat into the aqueduct Splash, that’s what's up Pattern-makers acclimate to cabin fever Meter-mapping, tapping out the dagger wave Crash and grapple with the castaway who crack the cuffs A little hack and slash, a little razzle-dazzle, that’s what’s up Rag tag bunch, bag lunch heavy The treasury keep his petty cash in bad luck pennies I came in the door a flash flood to the levee Wearing paint made of mashed berries and blood of the yeti Bet, the mathematics doesn't rattle us, that’s what’s up It’s adding up to a massive hole where the attic was I’m in the alley where it smell of actual battlefront And weed and coke and meth and crack and dust, that’s what’s up Buzzing down the ave, had the whole block shouting "That’s what’s up" when I pass Flea bags in the back seat, ruffles on the dash Returning to the scene to free his monkeys out the lab Dag, that’s what’s up, goat legs, goat horns Damn it all, plants all scarecrows and no corn You should see the whole horde climb down and go forth Ghost-world exports, rival town folklore, oh lord Every atom cut to splatterpunk Predisposed to rabble-rouse, batten down, that’s what’s up At the Lily pad, filling nickel bags of funk Ducking all these silly fads, shit is wack, that’s what’s up Lately, I been watching mostly horror flicks People being disemboweled, demons doing parlor tricks Witches in the forest making soup with supernatural stuff Creature on a killing spree, "It’s him or me," that’s what’s up By jove, roadside oddity Roam side roads that defy cartography Fat drum snatch and run, ragamuffin, that’s what’s up Missed you at the double back, catch you at the jackal hunt Hacks, that's what's up “Is that what’s up?”, that’s what’s up That’s a pack of travelers acting savage to the maximum Up before the other team Taut leash in each hand, it looks like I’m water skiing Well, I'll be damned, wrong day to reach land Take the long way around to shake the unseen hand Son, be a lamb, cold brew, vanilla, oat Keep em coming 'til his every stupid cell explode Rap stickers on his travel mug, that’s what's up Key lime pie, graham cracker crust I wouldn't trust a single one of y’all to crack the dutch Nobody checking y'all like “That’s the stuff,” that’s what’s up