Hang On To Your IQ

Chinese masseuse, comes between us

talks in haikus, plastic venus.

Got a headrush, in her pocket

two rubbers two lubes, and a silver rocket



Hang on, hang on

to your IQ, to your ID

hang on, hang on

to your IQ, to your ID



I'm lonely



Every morning, my eyes will open wide

I gotta get high, before I go outside.

Roll another, for breakfast

burning clouds around, and in my solar plexus.



Hang on, hang on

to your IQ, to your ID

hang on, hang on

to your IQ, to your ID



I'm lonely



Legs eleven, makes me stay up late

two fat ladies on my back, and now it's 88.

I'm a fool, whose tool is small

it's so miniscule, it's no tool at all.



hang on, hang on

to your IQ, to your ID

hang on, hang on

I'm lonely



Oh.


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