Bag Lunch

Banana slices over Captain Crunch, that’s what’s up
Elmer Fudd harassing Daffy Duck, that’s what's up 
The magic touch is aptly wrapped up in his rabbit punch 
Attackers dumping hazmat into the aqueduct 
Splash, that’s what's up, pattern-makers acclimate to cabin fever
Meter mapping, tapping out the dagger wave 
Crash and grapple with the castaway who crack the cuffs 
A little hack and slash, a little razzle dazzle, that’s what’s up
Rag tag bunch, bag lunch heavy 
The treasury keep his petty cash in bad luck pennies
I came in the door a flash flood to the levee
Wearing paint made of mashed berries and blood of the yeti 
Bet, the mathematics doesn't rattle us, that’s what’s up 
It’s adding up to a massive hole where the attic was 
I’m in the alley where it smell of actual battlefront 
And weed and coke and meth and crack and dust, that’s what’s up 
Buzzing down the ave, had the whole block shouting “that’s what’s up” when I pass 
Flea bags in the back seat, ruffles on the dash 
Returning to the scene to free his monkeys out the lab
Dag, that’s what’s up, goat legs, goat horns 
Damn it all, plants all scarecrows and no corn
You should see the whole horde climb down and go forth
Ghost-world exports, rival town folklore, oh lord
Every atom cut to splatterpunk
Predisposed to rabble-rouse, batton down, that’s what’s up 
At the Lily pad, filling nickel bags of funk 
Ducking all these silly fads, shit is wack, that’s what’s up
Lately I been watching mostly horror flicks 
People being disemboweled, demons doing parlor tricks 
Witches in the forest making soup with supernatural stuff 
Creature on a killing spree, “it’s him or me” that’s what’s up
By jove, roadside oddity
Roam side roads that defy cartography
Fat drum snatch and run, ragamuffin, that’s what’s up
Missed you at the double back, catch you at the jackal hunt 
Hacks, that's what's up, “is that what’s up?” That’s what’s up
That’s a pack of travelers acting savage to the maximum
Up before the other team
Taut leash in each hand, it looks like I’m water skiing
Well I'll be damned, wrong day to reach land  
Take the long way around to shake the unseen hand
Son, be a lamb, cold brew, vanilla, oat 
Keep em coming til his every stupid cell explode
Rap stickers on his travel mug, that’s what's up
Key lime pie, graham cracker crust 
I wouldn't trust a single one of y’all to crack the dutch 
Nobody checking yall like “that’s the stuff,” that’s what’s up