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Ian, why don't you say grace?"Dear God, thanks, and if you loved me vegetables would be extinct"Now I'm looking down the barrel of a string-bean sideLike an exodus of biblical propotion redefinedRectangle seat four, squeeze five, each oneMay not be excused from the table 'til the green goneStomach revvin' up an episodic rerunWhere's a dissipating plume of smoke when you need one?Chris and Graham hate 'em too but advocate a braver chewInvented for the code red, cola chaser, nose heldGulp! Moments later two have been releasedLeaving me the legroom and the legume policeGoing "Freeze! You with the pretzeled armsSend your fabricated nausea my best regardsAnd know this kitchen as a prison 'til the pea pods dieI could sit here all night", so could IWho was at the door just now?Kids on dirt bikes asking you to bunny-hop the curbsidesReally? Yup, I told 'em "Oh, he busy,he staring at his green beans being a total pussy"Blink twice if you are being held hostageI speak and spell of a sleeper cell in the hospiceWoke, impersonating busy little helpersThat intimately purr between the hiccuping up of feathersLetras de cancionesPick a porcelain dish, a single portion canned, frozen or freshDefies the glory of the poultry or fishVia communal bloodletting that rupture the spud levyNo '87 supper-scape was truly flood-friendlyEver, including at your basic cemetaryFor contaminated textures 60 minutes into neverWhere room temp heirlooms emanate a crude black mistTo a rendition of "Dude, dad's pissed!"Tell dad dude's pissed too, not to mentionGenuinely brandishing a new gill hueStill out-mule any last strafing watchmen'Til the lord taketh waiting as an optionWho was at the door just now?Kids on dirt bikes asking you to bunny-hop the curbsidesReally? Yup, I told 'em "Oh, he busy,he staring at his green beans being a total pussy"Who was at the door just now?Kids on skateboards asking you to navigate the claymoresReally? Yup, I told 'em "Oh, he can't,he in the kitchen pouting and terrified of a plant"Less like toes in a tide pool, more likeLeft, right, poached from notable giant KaijuFat neck, fine tooth, rock and leanYelling "This ends now, eat the god damn beans!"Ah! Hangdog mouth talk slang wrongAnd that there's flatware exhumed by a crane armTime for some action, stab one ripeFor a swipe and extraction, brined in malpracticeCarried to the cavernous yap and obliged accessIf only in compliance with a deep-fried fascistPeep, literally bite down onceAnd my tongue get a flooding from my uninvited gutsPointer finger plug a hole in the damn, ma notice"Ok, gross, blowfish, dinner's over, go spit"Pop call "bullshit", both of my brothers break inLike "He's on his Davie Hogan, no mistaken", by the way From Letras Mania