Pasty-faced villains,
Chalkware pilfers dimes.
Pasty-faced villains,
My baubles ain't your kind.
'Cause when a Buffalo boy trades
He nickels for rhymes.
Oh, gather up Sunday,
Sunday makes things right.
Say, rail against persimmon
Clothed in bat thorn fright.
'Cause to dash from one outdrawn
You make sunrise.
Tears from our maker
Fall like rain on a windshield.
In that vast, old motion picture
That they call our reflection.
In the flesh,
In the flesh.
You court cold and union
To shine me like you could.
You mourn as Delilah
Her best was hardly good.
So know a Buffalo boy leaves
He gains sainthood.
Tears from our maker
Fall like rain on a windshield.
In the vast, old motion picture
That they call our reflection.
In the flesh,
Shorn from mist.
Oh, when ought we marry
And drink to artesian wealth.
So when ought we marry
Betrothed beneath the shells.
'Cause any thirst that slows your gait
is still a spell.
Yes, any thirst that slows your gait
is still a spell.