Chunneler

this is a short collection of songs that I've written since I moved to Chicago. It took forever to complete because I have been trying to figure out how to live as a person. I'm sort of a person now. 

This is me shaking off some rust. enjoy!

Time Skip Arc

Lyrics:
"3's company, Appetite for Destruction tee, Chunky Monkey, Funyuns, I can feel the cat judging me, please, I've seen you eat your puke and drink the toilet water, which completely renders your opinion void you little fucker, poison puffers hit the reef, hissing through their missing teeth, pissy like a minotaur with 6 hours in the middle seat, or middle schoolers protesting the mystery meat and Catcher ban, castaways, walk into the same light as Carol Ann, dagger in his teeth and treat a rapper like a rack of lamb, his allergy is middling, his middle finger's Plastic Man, dag, they want a de-radicalized youth, though it sort of undermines the magic of high noon, my right hand writing a diary of the dodgy, I do the wrong thing when all the right people are watching, it's a medley of defiance and outfoxing, born in a storm's eye alongside Long Island swamp kings, bonk, shoegaze rap, get your blue suede, get used to the goofy get-a-clue face, jump into the goon goose chase, try the kool-aid, try the blue plate it tastes like dooms day, off leash gryphons at the Westminster Kennel Club, as vessels of Beelzebub, bite the hand that belly rub, lug it to belfry, keep the pups alive and healthy, we as hunters treat the summers like a mother ripe for milking, up and feeding Alexander Pardee art into the silk-screen, still here, sleeping with the lights on and quill near, tour van, corpse paint, war moon, make the bass wobble like a 2-man horse suit, dork-proof, type to forge a sword in his dorm room, break fiends, drain 3s from the warp tube, long tooth, short fuse, stormtroopers over John Zorn loops, if you ain't core it ain't for you, trolls, bubbling from the lows, want nothing but to run him for the bulk of what he owns, homie all of this material ain't shit to me, the trinketry, the filigree, the antiquated theories of validity, I never really cared for the cars, the point A to B sound scared when it starts, trash can fire in the middle of his crib, where the coven swap recipes and riddles from the crypt, it's monsoon season, keep the log flumes leanin’, religious paranoia get the Doc Seuss treatment, breaking out the Bronx Zoo, tabletop the Mongoose, gray fade, ain't afraid to knock a few cogs loose, I'm from where it's defense on 3, and anybody with a fucking brain bump Sean P, old boy, might combine the carve with the stalefish, all aboard the mid-life snail's pace tailspin, you were busy authoring the holy grail of mailed-in, I was busy snow, sleet, heavy rain, hail, wind, ready aim fail shit, it's Hail Mary’s everywhere, over all the petty shit, under all the messy hair, I'm untouchable, uncrushable, plus ill, we don't need another hero we just want our cups filled, I'm trivial pursuit cards at the 40/40 buzz kill, Aesop Rock, code name: yo son chill."

Time Skip Arc

justin be bussin

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