Get the Crunch, Cap’n

The crunchy bites, those morsel madness slights
While anxiety climbs higher
An electro-light miser of Budweiser
It's a crafty kind of microbrew
Like mindfulness without the shoes
It has me running, it's got me choking
It's not funny, I'm not joking

But there comes a time to speak of other things
Of creatures called Trumps, and when preachers jump stumps
You'll whittle a while, just sit there and smile
Forgetting the wonders you held as a child
So what's the thing with growing up
When all it brings is just more stuff?

That's the ticket, that's the spirit
I don't even want to hear it
I'll turn on the tube and take off my shoes
Put a laser disk on while I pour up some booze

And so as we go, from dot to dot to dot
The information superhighway really hits the spot
A vibratory fascist and an evil, loathsome despot
Let's truss it up and roast it, once it's hung enough bleed
Careful not to get it on you, smells like corporate greed!

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