Bag Lunch

[Verse]

Banana slices over Captain Crunch, that’s what’s up

Elmer Fudd harassing Daffy Duck, that’s what's up

The magic touch is aptly wrapped up in his rabbit punch

Attackers dumping hazmat into the aqueduct

Splash, that’s what's up

Pattern-makers acclimate to cabin fever

Meter-mapping, tapping out the dagger wave

Crash and grapple with the castaway who crack the cuffs

A little hack and slash, a little razzle-dazzle, that’s what’s up

Rag tag bunch, bag lunch heavy

The treasury keep his petty cash in bad luck pennies

I came in the door a flash flood to the levee

Wearing paint made of mashed berries and blood of the yeti

Bеt, the mathematics doesn't rattlе us, that’s what’s up

It’s adding up to a massive hole where the attic was

I’m in the alley where it smell of actual battlefront

And weed and coke and meth and crack and dust, that’s what’s up

Buzzing down the ave, had the whole block shouting "That’s what’s up" when I pass

Flea bags in the back seat, ruffles on the dash

Returning to the scene to free his monkeys out the lab

Dag, that’s what’s up, goat legs, goat horns

Damn it all, plants all scarecrows and no corn

You should see the whole horde climb down and go forth

Ghost-world exports, rival town folklore, oh lord

Every atom cut to splatterpunk

Predisposed to rabble-rouse, batten down, that’s what’s up

At the Lily pad, filling nickel bags of funk

Ducking all these silly fads, shit is wack, that’s what’s up

Lately, I been watching mostly horror flicks

People being disemboweled, demons doing parlor tricks

Witches in the forest making soup with supernatural stuff

Creature on a killing spree, "It’s him or me," that’s what’s up

By jove, roadside oddity

Roam side roads that defy cartography

Fat drum snatch and run, ragamuffin, that’s what’s up

Missed you at the double back, catch you at the jackal hunt

Hacks, that's what's up

“Is that what’s up?”, that’s what’s up

That’s a pack of travelers acting savage to the maximum

Up before the other team

Taut leash in each hand, it looks like I’m water skiing

Well, I'll be damned, wrong day to reach land

Take the long way around to shake the unseen hand

Son, be a lamb, cold brew, vanilla, oat

Keep em coming 'til his every stupid cell explode

Rap stickers on his travel mug, that’s what's up

Key lime pie, graham cracker crust

I wouldn't trust a single one of y’all to crack the dutch

Nobody checking y'all like “That’s the stuff,” that’s what’s up