Hang On To Your I.q.
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Chinese masseuse emerges as a mysterious figure in the narrative, weaving conversations in poetic haikus while embodying an enigmatic allure akin to a plastic Venus... seguir leyendo
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Hang On To Your I.q.
Chinese masseuse
Comes between us
Talks in haikus
Plastic venus
Got a headrush
In her pocket
Two rubbers two lubes
And a silver rocket
Hang on hang on
To your iq to your id
Hang on hang on
To your iq to your id
I'm lonely
Every morning
My eyes will open wide
I gotta get high
Before i go outside
Roll another
For breakfast
Burning clouds around
And in my solar plexus
Hang on hang on
To your iq to your id
Hang on hang on
To your iq to your id
I'm lonely
Legs eleven
Makes me stay up late
Two fat ladies on my back
And now it's 88
I'm a fool
Whose tool is small
It's so miniscule
It's no tool at all
Hang on hang on
To your iq to your id
Hang on hang on
To your iq to your id
I'm lonely
Oh
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