My mind is a cone
Everything important gets stuck in the horn
I’m barreling down body part blvd
With my head down I’m feeling pretty good about my chances
My mind is my baby
My body is a piece of paper
I fold it up, I stuff it down
I fold it up, I stuff it down
Oh no! Not again
I got the key but the padlock is bent
Kick can circling
I kick back with the candy bar soda kids
I had one hundred gold thoughts that I hung from my poor man’s guilt
And one by one I retire them
I fold them up and bury them under my winter-kill
I will make you a bet
I can hit this American nail on the head
My thoughts are so bloated
I’m like a book that got wet
Oh no! Not again
I got the key but the padlock is bent
I had one hundred gold thoughts that I hung from my poor man’s guilt
And one by one I retire them
I fold them up and bury them under my winter-kill
As hard as it may seem to get some relief
From all these cold calls that I get
I take my lamb and I break its legs
I wrap it up and bury it under my winter kill
I left my bag on the four heading downtown
I broke my legs running after it
I lost my mind heading southbound on I-5
I wrap it up and bury it under my winter-kill
