Lyrics:
Maybe she's not doing anything
Life is good today at the Surrealist Cafe
My mind is wandering again
Life's good every day at the Surrealist Cafe
All you
I once had this woman, a surrealist woman
She changed before my very eyes
One minute revolving, next minute dissolving
I wish that it had been
like I'm a glare
You know that I'm going for the head
Going for the head
Bitches on the floor
(kill yourself, juvos)
I am a surrealist pop artist
Part
Once in a while
In a big blue moon
There comes a night like this
Like some surrealist
Invented this fourth of July
Night ride home
Hula girls
In the top of the ilist, we've been the most realist
Paseamos so highs
In my mind surrealist
Mi lírica visual, mi rima inusual, traspiro estos versos
Once in a while
In a big blue moon
There comes a night like this
Like some surrealist
Invented this fourth of July
Night ride home
Hula girls
The Surrealist Woman
Groucho Marx: She's just returned from a long engagement in France and a short marriage in Spain. Ladies and Gentlemen, I
surrealist
I'm notoriously surrealist
Am I just a found object?
Am I just a found object?
Am I just a found object?
Cherry breath
Count to eight
TV dreams
Again and again
TV dreams
Surrealist fiction
Sweat to die
Cherry breath
Static noise
Time off life
Buried deep
I’ll do like surrealists
Used to (Ah)
But I won’t destabilize you (Ah)
‘Cause they’re the same things
I’m feeling pain
I’m feeling tears pushing
slipping my mind
(Please catch my body)
Breaking into a surrealist trance
(Like freefalling)
Steppenwolf living inside
(He tries to hunt me)
I think it’s
already know what it is "huh"
Young Surrealist stay lit "surrealist"
Poppin bottles at the club we be in VIP yea yea
Tout moun'n ap chèchem "yeah yeah"
And surrealist memories are too amorphous and proud
While those downtown macho painters are just alcoholic
The trouble with impressionist is
The trouble with
And surrealist memories are too amorphous and proud
While those downtown macho painters are just alcoholic
The trouble with impressionist is
The trouble with
And surrealist memories are too amorphous and proud
While those downtown macho painters are just alcoholic
The trouble with impressionist is
The trouble with
mass
Now the tallest of two, with a brush full of blue
Paints surrealist scenes on the wall
So I tell her for fun, that it's really well done
But she
mass
Now the tallest of two, with a brush full of blue
Paints surrealist scenes on the wall
So I tell her for fun, that it's really well done
But she
And surrealist memories are too amorphous and proud
While those downtown macho painters are just alcoholic
The trouble with impressionist is
The trouble with
a surrealist comb
Made of bits of mosaic from St. Peter's in Rome
But the weight was so great that she had to go home
I couldn't have liked it more
Your mother's breasts sag with such severity that the late, great surrealist artist Salvador Dali mistook them for clocks
and protracted by the purest
Moderns Cubists or Surrealists
To sleep they couldn't lull us so we synthesise our realest one
[Killers. You put them]
The HQ,
of a psycho cat
Should have kept under my surrealist hat
These are the confessions of a psycho cat
Yes, these are the confessions of a psycho cat
Yes
damned surrealist
If you didn't have an apple on your face
You're a blemish in my mind
A pockmark on the human race
Waste of space, waste of space,
received posthumous recuse
Is it the chase or the kill that lessens the thrill
Of winning a spot amongst surrealist realistic
Reels and reels of debacle
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