I won't screech on my brakes, lady
I'll only swerve for yah
Bent up spinners in the passing lane
True to shield, insincere to yield
Purity insecure
May the true sick never yield
Watch my snout
Find it in your driving diving cards
A pin-point pendulum
From a leading forehead
Painting some wedge
Painting breath
Panting breadth
A bright yelp from knees
The universe is a bratty spleen
Teen tensed up yacking spitting cordially
Into the tin receiver
These receding emotions
Cramped between the oils and cosmic pillow
Good fella, good riddance, good forbidden
No gawk no hawk no guru can put us together
Don't you tell me what to do
Don't you tell me what to do
Don't you tell me what to do
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