Pete Peterson - Cliff Walker Lyrics

Walk into this dirty cave
(Hey there pal how are ya)
No idea how to behave

Hey 'bout that moon
Me confused
Let us relate
'Bout our post-cretaceous state

Smilodon caught my tongue
Rubble rabble rumbles
You ain't gonna make no young

Ooo slightly blue
Haven't been chased by a lion for a day or two
Sip on something new
This fluid makes ya super cool it's true
No son
If you can't decode how to be fun
You'll be no one

We survived 'til Friday night
It's the end of the week (The weak?)
Spent the whole thing cold and rolling stones
Doin' caveman things

Bouncin' 'round some burnin' thing
To get along
Periodically
That matchin' motion
Sticks on skin and magic potion
Like tomorrow won't be

With the weight of the world
Coming down
We're growin' up
Absolutely freaked
Complete expressive bits
It's not so tough

Acting out our biggest fear
Up there on stage
Syncin' up our feels
Disguised and slime
They sell the sighs
Say sign here take over the world
It's destiny
Let's get real

Snakes old take hold
Make all fake gold
Whiner

Schweinefleisch
Get down
Get down
Don't be so damn strange yeah

Just dance
You've been enhanced
Don't need no plan
It's in the can
Gotta show your symmetry
Walk and talk like you are the man
See a shakin' ass
What to do?
Y'all came prepared
You just scared
Make that mistake say you're kiddin' though

Snazzy dudes, snazzy dudes
Snazzy dudes live in a can
Snazzy dudes live in a can now f*ck yeah

Fantasy in prehistory
Just hang a while and you will see
It's me
Stuck awkwardly
Full three STDs from the mean
No moves
Ain't smooth
Make sounds
How 'bout a groove
Got to prove
That I got a role
That I got a soul
Check it
Check it
Check
Hey
Check it out now

All on their feet
Hypnotized by the beat
It's the sounds
Cast the spell
And you'd think that it's cheatin'

Wow an excuse
Not to train this caboose
These emos
Sewn to ears
Signal takes on
Some strange control

There's plenty deep enough to find
Stop your whining damn fool
It's out there
Think you're too cool

Waking dead on Sunday morn
It's wasted time again
Have to admit that for the slick tricks I ain't fit
I cannot pretend

Got into a funked up place out there alone
Total should been tea
When art and stuff ain't quite enough
Desperation becomes decoration
(Shunned) by the tribe but it's fine
That's the deal
Invent the wheel