Hang Ten

[Intro] I've been having hallucinations [Chorus] G-g-g-g-g-got style, I know the routine A-all punks popping junk can't join my team I-I-I-I got style, I know the routine A-all punks popping junk can't join my team [Verse 1: Rob Sonic] Down in the meadow with the hungry hound-dog With a sidecar helmet and 800 pound conch Cradling a calico growling shift towards The thorn in his paw and his call ignored Falling on his sword so that calling all guards To the Zoot Suit Riot get your giants on guard With a roof boost gesture rocky dive bombs Eye of the goliath fly his Monty Pythons Circusing his Burger King sesame seed bun Fred parry berry with the weatherby re-runs Rent-a-ski beach bum with the broken Oakleys When he Hang Ten men for the locals only Rowboat slowly to the Roanoke docks And trade a musket for a bucket full of hobo socks And a rose gold watch, and a rototom And take a selfie with a selkie as a photobomb He give it how he get it and he got it bad A flare gun tucked in his locker latch For the hell of it and benefit of Mrs. White In the kitchen with the television clicker, right? No clue, no news, xanny-tabs Boat shoes, gold tooth, fanny packs In some fancy pants and a stussy hat Just because I'm motherfuckin' bringin' ugly back [Chorus] I g-got style, I know th-I know the routine Y'all punks popping junk can't join my team I-I-I got style, I know the routine Y'all punks popping junk can't join my team G-g-got style, I know the routine Y'all punks popping junk can't join my team Got style, I know the routine-tine All-all punks popping junk can't join my team [Verse 2: Aesop Rock] Down in the meadow Darkening the heels Of the down-and-out animals Of dour day and sour mouth Will empty from a crowded train Oversee an evil plot And blend in with the basic layman Hey man, is that freedom rock? Yeah man, it balances the give and take of spinning plates While easing the transition from efficient to a living grave What started with a single flaming arrow Would grow into a figure 8 of incubated ammo In a blink, blammo, we cold packed the jam No cold pack so Cro-Magnon man Won't hold back homie Start a cult, paint the world black Old world magic, of a re-imagined skull snaps hope Nun bells ring for the plebian Melted down slow and poured into a fringe medium Picture it by poorly tinted sepia Ensuring its remembered as a More important story than it really was What it really is A culture of chameleons Who muster up a hairy eyeball Deep behind the peeling skin Hold fam, declawed knee-high House cats bred with Tin cans pre-tied Drink from the river 'til he return three eyed Talkin back to a Beefheart B-side If anybodies listening, I need a new apartment Something spooky with a garden Pardon [Chorus] I g-got style, I know the routine (You know what I mean) Y'all punks popping junk can't join my team Got style-got style, I know th-I know the routine Y'all punks popping junk can't join my team Got style-got style, I know th-I know the routine Y'all punks popping junk can't join my team Got style-got style, I know th-I know the routine Y'all punks popping junk can't join my team [Skit] Man 1: Oh shoot man. Mallon startin' a fundraiser concert to save the bowling alley. It's about time. Only Mallon can save this city from economic ruin Woman: Holy shit! The Mallon boys are starting a fundraiser concert for the bowling alley on Main? We gotta go! Man 2: Oh dip, Hail Mary Mallon are having a fundraiser concert. Who am i gonna bring to this fundraiser concert? British Man: Oh look, a fundraiser concert to save the alley Man 3:Hey dude, you see that flyer for the fundraiser concert. Mallon is doin' it for the bowling alley. I love a fundraiser concert. Lets go Child: Fundraiser concert? Boring Aesop Rock and Rob Sonic: Fundraiser Concert!