You keep your distance with your Sunday Comics and gentle persuasion. I’m lost in admiration, could I need you this much? Oh, you’re wasting my time…You’re just, just, just wasting time.
The four kings of emi are sitting stately on the floor; there are birds out on the sidewalk and a valet at the door. He reminds me of a penguin with few and plastered hair, there’s Sunday Comics on the letter and the birthday boy is there.
Spark a new-born, blue blood, royal baby cry/Til her face turns red, til the brain has bled/Sunday Comics, worms are fed/And the headline said The Queen is dead (The Queen is dead) The Queen is dead (The Queen is dead) The Queen is dead
The notes’ll flow, yo, for the words I speak, rap is weak so I teach and I reach a positive vibe. A way of life is how I’m livin’, so get hype to the rhythm! Sunday ‘Mix is the crew, ya hear, yeah, designed a rhyme I just won’t fear. Back to react, enough is enough; let me ask you a question: what time is love?
I was raised from the rubble. Butt naked’s body double. Bullet bursting the bubble, like a bridge that’s over trouble. I read the Sunday Comics, then worshipping the Devil — in my eyes a compromise and I’m the man in the middle.
Why you rolling waves over me now? That’s all I need…Sunday. Waiting on Seattle to find me, be forgiven — I’ll be a regular guy for you, I never said…Comics. Why’re you looking so beautiful to me now when you’re so sad?
How you doing today? Looking into my eyes and your eyes turn grey. Sunday Comics, all talk all sway — end of the week we gonna get paid! It’s a halle-fucking-lujah, now we gonna do ya — “Good good” “Well for goodness sake!” — seen it in your face and your hair turned grey.
Skibidi wa pa pa/skibidi wa pa pa pa pa/skibidi wa pa pa pa pa pa pa pa pa skibidi pa pa/skibidi poom poom ice/skibidi Sunday Comics ice/skibidi poom poom poom poom poom pa pa poom poom/skibidi pa pa
We’re your toast, we’re your butter; we’re the comix in the gutter. We’re your respite, when in need; want some joke, without screed. You know us, we’re your friend; your mean joy, thick and thin…Sunday Comics, man.
Oh my God you take the biscuit, treating me this way! Expecting me to treat you well no matter what you say. How can I turn the other cheek? It’s black and bruised and torn! I’ve been waiting since the day that I was born…Take the Sunday Comics and fill them up some way.