100% Pure Fuckin' Malarkey

Everybodies gonna have a good time
Everything just a-gyratin'
Everybodies gonna rush the finish line
Everythings just intoxicatin'

chorus
Lock me, like you parked me
100% pure fuckin' malarkey
Stop me, like you popped me
100% pure fuckin' malarkey
Now, rock me, while you mock me
100% pure fucking malarkey (x3)

Everybodies gonna twist and bend
Everythings just a'tiltin'-n-whirlin'
Everybodies gonna lose their head
Everything just totally swirlin'

Everybodies gonna sparkle and shine
Everythings illuminated
Everybodies gonna be the divine
Everything inter-related

Not sixteen percent
Not eighty-four point seven fuckin' percent
Not fifty-three percent
Not ninety-nine point nine fuckin' percent
100% PURE FUCKIN' MALARKEY (x3)


Hands Make Arms Make Sense

Sometimes simple observations
Are the single occupation of my mind
All my daydream inclinations
Are the major considerations of my time

Like what if every living thing
Lives inside another living being
This just going on infinitely
Im just a cell that thinks it's me

chorus
Hands make arms make sense
May I present as evidence
This simple fact im thinking it, hence
Hands make arms make sense

Free form pondering philosophies
Discovery of the mysteries in my mind
A world within but without end
A place unconfined by space and time

And what if in another dimension
Im writing all of these same sentences
But everything is all reversed
And the other me has an extra verse


So what if langueage obfuscates
More information than it relates
If words are ideas become mistaken
Im glad to spend my time just thinkin'