I’m driving, hands on the yoke
I bought it by acting like One
But I dread every Monday
My eyes shoot missiles to the moon
Every night on Sunday
It’s ok, let the bombs go off
Erase some of my misinformation
We’re all in handcuffs anyway
But who’s got the crooked stick
I’m flying, hands on the yoke
I was taught it by acting like One
But I dread every knock-knock joke
My co-pilot tells me as he eats
Blood oranges
It’s ok, let the bombs go off
Erase some of my misinformation
We’re all in handcuffs anyway
But who keeps beating me with wood
The death sales, the dead don’t sell
How did it start, when did it sail
An all the ELFs have taken
The death ray off the shelf
So all our cells can scurry