Mr. Orange Lyrics
Drain the gourd with a muddy stick
Take the body out, spit the seeds at the land. Add powder for the bomb.
Find a human trinket and explode it with this line
"I'm an arsenal in fact and now your style is mine."
Take a look. What is left?
Mob of tears and ditch of weed.
Mr. Orange you've grown up sad,
And now your orchard's science blind.
Dig a hole. Jump inside. Peek out your fear.
Read about an iron hand. Pretend that he is near.
Drink a little vodka now, loosen up your brain.
Arsenals have random days, your weapons pour down rain.
Take a look. What becomes of uniforms and misery?
Mr. Orange you've grown up hard, and your is science blind.
Then the admonition comes.
You can't find your fuzzy feet.
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The fist that strikes you is a shard.
Mr. Orange you're full of seeds.
You'll be here for a thousand years
Sick and tired. A lofty fruit.
Mr. Orange you paint up nice,
And now your orchard's still and pocked.
