All I have to say right now as we enter the vicissitudes of the Alabama gubernatorial election shakedown, is: Spasm waiter dropping to his knees, sees Slander on wrap paper ties Lifting up his head he feels the sunlight in his eyes Grasp a kettle top and shoot the breeze, please Ramble while slop scraper sighs Tossing in his bed at night he'll dream until he dies Operations at the sink The dribble liquid visible beneath his troubled eyes Feels it tilt and start to slide Mask a pretty hopper's foot with squeeze cheese Dangle some grape apple pies Tranquil and serene until he runs out of supplies Your hands and feet are mangos You're gonna be a genius anyway Your hands and feet are mangos You're gonna be a genius anyway