Roforofo don change them, them go look like twins. You no go know who be who, Sunday Comics don change them — them go look like twins, you no go know who be who. You no go know your friend from who.

Rotating head, friends in high places No need to guess what he’s got in that briefcase A mind like a gin-trap, one swollen ankle Sunday Comics try to look on the bright side of things

The styling is raw jamon, Comix from the Commons can be replicated, but not decepticated. I got brothers under Jughead, Johnny’s on the Quest; Dead departed Crankshaft, in pea porridge may he rest. Know you’ve read the others, phonies to the lovers, but then of…

She’s reading Sunday Comics, “oh, Basho’s cute.” She’s reading Sunday Comics when they shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot.

In the mornin’ you go gunnin’ for the man who stole your Comics And you fire till he is done in but they catch you last Sunday And the mourners are all singin’ as they drag you by your feet But the hangman isn’t hangin’…

You, the people of the United States, did you form a perfect union?/Establish justice, ensure tranquility, secure the blessings of Liberty to yourselves and your posterity?/How blind can you get for your country, right or wrong? — “America,” Laibach

An XL entry connoting the 200th edition of the Sunday Comics, our weekly collection of art and humor from Around the World and the Creative Commons market.

It’s so deep, it’s so wide, you’re inside synchronicity/Effect without a cause, subatomic laws, Sunday Comics y’all, synchronicity!

Sunday Comics from morning ’til night/Dance low, pat, and I’m feeling all right.

Back from the shadows again, back to where an Indian’s your friend/Where Sunday Comics are seen, and you can pee right into the stream/We’re back from the shadows again