Here I stand.
On a chunk of land.
Pickle in hand.
Not much to say.
But words that sway.
In a way that seems.. fitting.
Not a rap,
Nor a wrap,
Or an old tree with sticky sap.
On a train,
Not a plane.
Here I stand,
On a chunk of land.
Pickle in hand.
This seems to be familiar.
On a mat,
That was torn by a cat,
In the corner the cat sat.
Did I say train?
I meant plane.
Here I stand,
On a chunk of land,
Pickle in hand.
Eating Swedish Fish,
Only to make a wish,
A wish for a tasty dish.
And for you? Another round.
So I poke myself with a pin,
So I would win;
A chance to take a nice car for spin.
Why you ask?
It's almost a task.
Here I stand,
On a chunk of land,
Pickle in hand.
This is my life.
I say fuck strife.
I say cut if with a knife.
I need not worries.
This is my call?
I say we all fall.
Here I stand,
On a chunk of land,
Pickle in Hand.