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We are the dill pickles
These seven outlaw pickles couldn't hold us back
They're gonna ascent up 
Getting killed soon by a sword that's black
 
 
And I mollify myself at night 
Because I can't forget
 
 
Those pickles were very kind
Until they rigged the bet
And tomorrow before the sunrise
They will be gone
Don't want to hear about it
Every single one was so amiable 
 
Then they got agitated
They threw the Queen of England at an awful smell
And if I them coming back my way 
It's going to be dire
 
I'll throw them in a tight, closed space
Yes, that's what I'll do 
And the feeling coming from their bones 
 
 
is claustrophobia
Well, I just wrote a song
Far from a good one or something more
I'm gonna work the straw
Make the sweat drip out of every pore
And I'm singing, and I'm singing, and I'm singing 
Right before dinner 
All the words are gonna bleed from me
And I will sing no more
 
 

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