Looking for the clique with my McElroy shirts on
Speaking in tongues like a dumb Werner Herzog
Grind like it's fun, think it’s right til it works wrong
Stick with the lint, put a light to a burnt log
Find the portal to the dead dog paradise
Try to fit my disillusionment inside my paradigms
I put the Sprechers on the shelf with all the bric-a-brac
Assess if my collection can impress Litztomaniacs
Fat fingers reading Sartre on the subway,
I’ll get to that later, I take the mic and make
Magic like an ass shaker, sacrifices sent before the
Temple of the act first ask later, Chatter
Blindly in the night because you’re terrified of quiet, now you’re
Breaking down your jai alai over the Miller High Life
I haven’t had a chance to hear about my life
You dance like it’s a way to get the time by

Looking for the clique with my McElroy shirts on
Speaking in tongues like a dumb Werner Herzog

I’ll stop joking when I stop laughing, sipping whiskey with the
Citrus like it’s old fashioned, speaking in the present
Tense on an old passion, go over the weather
Gettin colder than it’s probably gonna be inside the casket
She’s intent that she better break down
What’s inherently romantic in a female pronoun
Fixing up the salad bar for the window dressing
In the corner you can keep ‘em guessing, Catch me
Reading graphic novels wearing rose tinted goggles, Ever
Thought if anything besides a mind can get boggled, And they’re
Gone, You never figured that would last long
Another ugly duckling only grew into a black swan
Your attention’s on the man behind the curtain as he’s
Writing reprimands in the second person, Now you’re
Seeing the invisible, gotta get home quick
Scribble on your hand again that no one really gives a shit

Looking for the clique with my McElroy shirts on
Speaking in tongues like a dumb Werner Herzog