BODY PARTS & FLYING THINGS
©1995 A HALO CALLED FRED

BUGS
are always happy
Bugs are always happy
Over here over there
Happy cause they just don't even care

If you could think just like a bug
Then you'd just do just what you want
And who would care about worries of any sort
When you're a bug
Life is just too short

Bugs are always happy
Oh so goddam happy
On the ground in the sky
Bugs are just another guy

Bugs could not ever go veggie
Cause they eat stuff that you can't see
They don't do health food or cigarettes or drugs
And even vegetatians
Like to kill bugs

There is just no reason why

(LYRICS BY BRUSHWOOD)

MY BRAIN
My brain.
Where has it gone from whence it came?

There it goes, wave to it.
There it goes, wave to it!!!

My brain.
It's off to terrains where it can be insane.
How lame, how lame!

Come back, Mr. Brain!
If you come back I'll buy you a

...gerbil?

(LYRICS BY BRUSHWOOD)

YOU SCHMUCK
Give me 70 bucks. If you don't give me that 70 bucks, I'm gonna have to hit you with my truck. So I asked your mom to give me the 70 bucks you owe. But she said no, so now I gotta blow your mom. So I asked your cat, and it said "meow meow meow" about that. That means "no" with a big guitar solo.

(LYRICS BY JIM BOB)

ALIENS
are flying inside my head and it hurts ow ow ow ow ow ow.

Aliens are flying inside my head and it really really hurts ow ow.

Aliens are flying round and round inside my head and it hurts ow ow ow ow.

Aliens are flying inside my head and it hurts ow ow ow ow ow ow.

(LYRICS BY GEVEREND)

BUTT!
I totally look like, totally feel like, totally smell like, totally taste like butt. I totally am butt.

Butt is a state of mind, not the mind of the state of confusion that borders Kentucky. Without it we couldn't move bowels or buildings. The build up would blow up. We couldn't eat food. The feeling is mutual. Sanity borders in retrograde motion. The buildup is blinding. The backlash is baffling me to no end. Why do I feel like I'm not in the mood?

I totally want your, totally need your, totally smell your, totally taste your butt. I totally am butt.

Butt is a place in my heart, not the heart of the place in my body that borders my back. Without it, we couldn't make mountains from molehills. We wouldn't get spankings. We wouldn't feel pain. The pain is unusual. Pleasantries border in retrograde chaos. Punishment happens in Freudian splendor, so why do I feel like I'm going insane?

How can strive to be the best we can be when it seems the best we can be is butt?

(LYRICS BY GEVEREND)