[A day in the life of a waiter/addict with delusions of grandeur.]
Spasm waiter dropping to his knees, sees
Slander on wrap paper ties
Lifting up his head he feels the sunlight in his eyes
Grasp a kettle top and shoot the breeze, please
Ramble while slop scraper sighs
Tossing in his bed at night he'll dream until he dies
Operations at the sink
The dribble liquid visible beneath his troubled eyes
Feels it tilt and start to slide
Mask a pretty hopper's foot with squeeze cheese
Dangle some grape apple pies
Tranquil and serene until he runs out of supplies
Your hands and feet are mangos
You're gonna be a genius anyway
Your hands and feet are mangos
You're gonna be a genius anyway
