[ Featuring Pretzels ]
Lied, liar, fired, unmotivated, uninspired
Died, tired, dire, the food supply has run dry
His face, a vacuum, a stench emanating from the bathroom
Piped and pasted, not a single crumb was wasted
His food churns down the line
One man's garish appetite
Still hours behind
Feeding his masses buffet-style
Poultry marching in single file
It's the circle of life
The buffet lost again
Looking up from the bottom
In a city of stairways
Where are all the knives
The buffet lost again
Your plate has made you powerful
Just one more empty spot
These three plates oughta do
Should we lock all the doors
Not even Ramsey could settle the score
Upon a couch, his live-in tomb
He waits with baited breath
Matted hair and pained digest
His heart beats through his chest
200,000 calories
For his taste buds to possess
The anticipation may be his best
In fifteen minutes or less
His fingers tremble, familiar name on a screen
Hello, hotdog factory? Yeah, it's me
Another round, his pace quickens, his heart sinks
Will he make it in time? A knock at the door
Who could it be? Is it fun, food, or fantasy
Oh, hotdog factory, here to clog my arteries
Say goodbye, apple pie, it's your time to die
You'll be the death of me
In for the chew and I'm down for round two
Pay no mind as the palpitations ensue
Honey, I'm coming home
A faint flutter, dysrhythmia, his fingers tremble, a familiar name on a screen
911 what's your emergency? Yeah, it's me
A consuming addiction, a constant affliction
Nothing now, but coming soon
A continuous funeral, his caloric tribunal
Medics rushing to explore, ripped out windows, torn out doors
An ambulance and tow truck lights
Firefighters through trash piled high, pizza boxes to the sky
Trudging through a sea of cans, on the couch, one hell of a man
It's been a good run, I think
I'm so tired now
I've had my fill and never lost a bit of it
But I just don't fit in this world anymore
Destined to die on this here couch
I feel so bad for the hotdog factory
Those people, and this town I kept alive for so long
The refrigerator is silent, leftovers grow mold
The clock on the wall just wastes my time
One more gondola ride, a gravy boat, a six-foot hole
