Ticket out Lyrics

I need a ticket out from the sterile exterminators, short change artists, sperm donors, bone givers, insect collectors tossing lipstick pink stones at bare gummed dogs that cant chew bones and at the cruds who would assassinate the process which moves us forward

meanwhile businessmen sized baboons as shallow as goldfish bowls come on with needlenosed pliers clutching miscellaneous xeroxed scrolls in their grasps containing the plan to save themselves and the planet or a blueprint to line their pockets with green flat presidents of the past it goes like this...

we'll level eveything of beauty stack pre-fab L shape architectural eyesores for millions of bores in various colors then cover all the windows in black drapes and it's curtains for you in the land of plastic surgery

over at the psychic outhouse the spider throwers are decked out just like a prostitute's makeup in the rain seasick sailors landlocked bars spinning to hold up leaning buildings hammers clang while stomach's churning grubby smells and peasant paws hooked into some paycheck from god and it's playtime for the workers where a dark growth's spit out of the assembly plant as the wasps gather with freshly baked apple pies trying to ease into a bigger picture that's nothing more than a cornflake advertisement with a traffic cop turning blue but you cant eat because they've stolen all the spoons

universal critics are just a herd of crickets and up in the cheap seats clap is being spread at a rate that can't be seen crash it up and patch it down its all a falling dream all these financial takeovers pink pigs slippery tongues gentlemen let's start this race no bullets in the starting gun setting up nuts to take the blame and pawns to build the doors the grass is always greener on the other swine and his or hers matching plutonium massacre floor while they're chewing on some drugged out lost travelers carrying sleeping sickness delirium night jar bus bench extinct ugly treasure in an incedent crazed shameless condition with a diagram of a tarantula sucking sleaze bag vibrates as he's talking to a snakenecked weapons inspector at the launching site

I cant keep up with the Smiths and the Jone's can't keep in reach with simple shits with broken bones bad hairdos stinky breath and stuffy noses radiating murder, mayhem and happy trails as their vital signs

bank-robbing baby sitters gather cash around closing time and they're painting pictures.. pictures of deception flowers in yellow orange and black.