Them seeds sprouted a great pumpkin.
Lemme show you something:
Elbow grease at the beast junction.
At peace with a creased muffin-top?
Couldn’t be me.
La maison en petite cubes.
Shouldn’t we run, you think, dudes?
I peaked when you blinked just now.
Freak power so it’s fuck what you thinked just now.
Pink and brown wrinkled brows trying to read my sounds: keep it down, they got ears to the underground—sink it like a frown.
I’m down in it like a Reznor razor blade across a bitcrushed sine wave in a crust punk tirade when I’m ailing, I bump Ada Rook full blast in the Prius, wishing every fucking person on this Earth would briefly see us.
Inside of the box is like a 3DS—an affect adding a bit more depth (but not much).
Clutching breath right out the lungs of legends I rebreathe a heavenly cloud, except now it’s lung bile brown. (Ough)
Inside of the box I keep my caltrops, my gal props, my pale hops, and no memories of my stale opps.
Inside of the box I flip my flow switch, flick my cold wrist, and sip hard on diet coke.
Inside of the box is just a box of boxes. Inside those boxes are even more boxes. Inside of the box is just a box of boxes. Inside those boxes are even more boxes; I promise.

It’s time for an unboxing!
Anti-pugilistic, victory requires outfoxing.
I got the moxie like I’m cheaply in DC, playing Borderlands three and recording while I stream.
Touch your cheek, feel the streaming tears and think which of all the fears inside your mind I’m bleeding on the beat.
Are you reading what I’m reading when I’m at the lyrics sheet?
Are you feet-up at the beach or all hunched over at your seat?
Are you punch-drunk in your love, all bunched up in a heap?
Are you somebody’s perfect drug, or just an addict in the sheets?
Are you ready for the thirties, or you stuck on 23?
Are you gonna fucking eat that? —‘Cause it’s making me hungry.
And I wolf that shit down like a Twilight Princess.
I’ve been crowned best in the nexus.
Flex when you test it just like an Armstrong sister.
Blistering speed, so of course you missed her.
History deep deep down in the pisser.
Hysterical when she thinks you dissed her, mister please don’t get on my list, it’s long as it is, and I’m loud even when I whisper.
Inside of the box is just a box of boxes. Inside those boxes are even more boxes. Inside of the box is just a box of boxes. Inside those boxes are even more boxes.