Well we’re both stuck for foreseeable days
And you call me the king I feel like your PA
And as things go wrong I can’t see my own error
I call you the brat but you feel like a carer
And I can taste blood from sucking on my teeth
With the cuts on my tongue and my gum disease
And it turns into to venom for you and the band
Like the tritons spit and spat but with our poison glands
And as all confrontation is carefully preserved in our bog of conversation we fight back unreserved
I will always be to you an extension of I
And who are we? Just potatoes
The ones with the eyes pretruding
The ones going off in the cupboard
The ones with the eyes pretruding
Grubby and stubborn
Grubby and stubborn
Grubby and stubborn
