Grace Testo

Ian, why don't you say grace?
"Dear God, thanks, and if you loved me vegetables would be extinct"
Now I'm looking down the barrel of a string-bean side
Like an exodus of biblical propotion redefined
Rectangle seat four, squeeze five, each one
May not be excused from the table 'til the green gone
Stomach revvin' up an episodic rerun
Where's a dissipating plume of smoke when you need one?
Chris and Graham hate 'em too but advocate a braver chew
Invented for the code red, cola chaser, nose held Gulp! Moments later two have been released
Leaving me the legroom and the legume police
Going "Freeze! You with the pretzeled arms
Send your fabricated nausea my best regards
And know this kitchen as a prison 'til the pea pods die
I could sit here all night", so could I

Who was at the door just now?
Kids on dirt bikes asking you to bunny-hop the curbsides
Really? Yup, I told 'em "Oh, he busy,
he staring at his green beans being a total pussy"

Blink twice if you are being held hostage
I speak and spell of a sleeper cell in the hospice
Woke, impersonating busy little helpers
That intimately purr between the hiccuping up of feathers
Pick a porcelain dish, a single portion canned, frozen or fresh
Defies the glory of the poultry or fish
Via communal bloodletting that rupture the spud levy
No '87 supper-scape was truly flood-friendly Ever, including at your basic cemetary
For contaminated textures 60 minutes into never
Where room temp heirlooms emanate a crude black mist
To a rendition of "Dude, dad's pissed!"
Tell dad dude's pissed too, not to mention
Genuinely brandishing a new gill hue
Still out-mule any last strafing watchmen
'Til the lord taketh waiting as an option

Who was at the door just now?
Kids on dirt bikes asking you to bunny-hop the curbsides
Really? Yup, I told 'em "Oh, he busy,
he staring at his green beans being a total pussy"
Who was at the door just now?
Kids on skateboards asking you to navigate the claymores
Really? Yup, I told 'em "Oh, he can't,
he in the kitchen pouting and terrified of a plant"

Less like toes in a tide pool, more like
Left, right, poached from notable giant Kaiju
Fat neck, fine tooth, rock and lean
Yelling "This ends now, eat the god damn beans!"
Ah! Hangdog mouth talk slang wrong
And that there's flatware exhumed by a crane arm
Time for some action, stab one ripe
For a swipe and extraction, brined in malpractice
Carried to the cavernous yap and obliged access
If only in compliance with a deep-fried fascist
Peep, literally bite down once
And my tongue get a flooding from my uninvited guts
Pointer finger plug a hole in the damn, ma notice
"Ok, gross, blowfish, dinner's over, go spit"
Pop call "bullshit", both of my brothers break in
Like "He's on his Davie Hogan, no mistaken", by the way