Decline-O-Meter - Gourds, The Lyrics

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Decline-O-Meter

Try and sell me human grade for prime, I ain’t buyin’
I’m Buzz on psilocybin Spruce Goose it ain’t flyin
Twenty-five year old Scotch breath, pilot’s grounded
Never thought we’d have to see you nude, only naked
I ain’t got a clue
I ain’t dumbin’ it down
The apple cart’s disturbed out in front of the beast
It’s all Schoolhouse Rock
The magic number’s 3
My appetite’s curbed, it registered on my declinometer
Walkin’ talkin’ Johnny Thunders on your cross in stations
Prosecutor always screamin’ delicto inflagrante
I got a sham
I got a scheme
I got the best of translations
Never call me by my first name just hillbilly


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