I'll get you closer to God.
Care to join in a run?
Lift our soles 'till we're spun.
Hippy-gypsy hobo-scum:
We are The Light,
The Chosen Bums.
I know where the
Summer goes
When you're outta gas, outta car, outta road:
Nowhere to flow. . .
Now here IS nowhere,
So live there,
Even if you've got an
Address on Earth.
Leave your home, change your name, sell your stuff -
Go insane.
Go for a ride,
We'll get closer to God!
Transcend with the friends:
Find the worth in rebirth.
I got a soul
Full of
Festival mud,
Feel my
Heart's beat keep
Pumpin' the blood.
You hear the dirt in the wire?
Feel the Love in the fields?
Maybe I lost my shit. . .
Maybe I found how to spit:
Maybe it was all a deem -
A flip of the switch:
Turned it on to read
Dimethyl Trippazine.
And if you don't know,
You'll begin to understand. . .
And if you don't know,
You'll begin to understand. . .
Hold up,
Did I say that right?
Check it again
Out loud,
Or keep imagining
It's just as tight,
Getting silently scrutinized
When it's said in your head.
Wanna go for a ride?
Find my keys &
Just kidding let's use bikes.
I'll get you closer to God,
We're better off sped than right.
You might need a ride to Arise,
But you know I need a rise to a-ride:
Tit for tat and
We both arrive.
Let's up-the-gear,
Goof it off,
Don't tell me to get real -
Join in for a joke.
I'll just do my job &
You be The Spoof Boss.
Take a tip from
A Downtown Clown,
Take a rip from the stuff:
A little-dabby-do-haha. . .
Now it all gets turned around,
Now it's a sunrise set with
The Clownton Downs!
God Bless the Ghost of Wobbin Rilliams &
The Light that's been cast on this
Beautiful Mess. . .
And I don't mean me or you -
But rather the tents
Which are unfortunatley moist & cool.
So walk to the back of the ranch,
Find a cow & squeeze out
Some liquid moo:
Gotta get down on the
Cinnamon-Toast-Munch -
Time to carb up, fool.
Join me on a trot &
We'll dance in a bassy tube.
I ain't got but a bottom dollar
Rolled-up,
But don't think I'm rude.
Cash ain't no end just a mean,
But where to?
Don't mean to be mean but we're out of school,
And the degree has graduated to 102.
I'm gettin' vertigo from
Livin' this life
At the corner of Unlimited & Farenheights.
If your head's feelin' spicy it's 'cuz
I'm he'brewin' up some funk that
Could cut the air with a spoon,
Like some of that stuff from
Two-thousand-seventeen-too-soon. . .
Now I'm-uh-slay all day
'Cuz The Word & Namaste is
The only Way.
Be a Guru-of-Gravy,
Not a child of "maybe":
You know,
Keep the sauce in the pot -
Get back to the tracks -
We'll find the rhymes to enlighten
If you spin up the wax,
Fly over the moon -
Put a kick in the mix,
Rage the ship 'till
We crash The Eclipse.
