Carambola, Or Rome Was Built in a Day

[Chorus: Bender]
To James Joyce's bones and the ghost of Langston Hughes
Whose poems rang of truth and to those who sang the blues
To those who showed their fangs but never broke the bank in two
'Cause the lowest hanging fruit was never enough, it's never enough
To old Dylan Thomas and the ghost of Langston Hughes
Whose poems rang of truth and to those who sang the blues
To those who showed their fangs but never broke the bank in two
Or picked the lowest hanging fruit to appease those who drank its juice

[Verse: Patience & *Mitch Hedberg sample*]
"You know, I think of something that's funny then I go get a pen and I write it down. Or if the pen's too far away I have to convince myself that what I thought of, ain't funny"
Wake up
Vacuum the floor, watch the door, reorganize your records
Scan for pretension in your text, cancel breakfast
Drink something fortified instead, it's damn incentive
To land in bed with a handled checklist, you ran the sentence like a spike
Your run-ons are such nonsense
Wash your hands and dangle your phalanges till they're dry
Now a drunk hostage of what options?
You wanna make 'em synthesize, to live or die, there isn't time, it's dignified
A witness lies, or skims to find some kind of thing inside
That feeds their narcissism written within, it isn't worth it
This isn't bullshit, though, it's something, right, it counts
Akira confidence, the fear of consequence just mounts
Put it out there, the masters all knew what they were doing
And trust me, nothing you write is hackneyed like Dave McEwen
That's the practice, some homework for your audience
Your batting average is more nonsense, and you lob it in
Best friend, worst enemy, eventually one in the
Same it might come from the
Basic run of the
Millions of millions of neurons to which you're subject
Publishers want the moving parts, they want to touch base
Word to God, you're a fraud, they've heard it all
Burn the crops, it's curtain call, learn to crawl, et cetera
A practical joke, your back's to the ropes, you can't even cope
The matter is toast, you had to just coast along, the wrong competitor
Turn it off, you were lost, Who's The Boss? came on, your dog ate it
Cue the nonchalance, they're all tasteless
But the fact remains, you've cashed the cheque
And if that editor rears his ugly head around here, you're gonna snap his neck
Yeah the fact remains you've spent the dough
And if the bill collectors fill your head with dread you're gonna send him home, head first
Essentially, friend to me, you've blown your deadline
And now you never leave your home, it's bedtime
The best idea strikes the second your head hits the down
Pull a Mitch Hedberg instead, listen now:
24 hours, not a word, you fill in your cage
Quite nicely, Rome was built in a day
Goodnight

[Chorus: Bender]
To James Joyce's bones and the ghost of Langston Hughes
Whose poems rang of truth and to those who sang the blues
To those who showed their fangs but never broke the bank in two
'Cause the lowest hanging fruit was never enough, it's never enough
To old Dylan Thomas and the ghost of Langston Hughes
Whose poems rang of truth and to those who sang the blues
To those who showed their fangs but never broke the bank in two
Or picked the lowest hanging fruit to appease those who drank its juice
Piss on 'em