Candy, oh, look a piece of candy!

Not to sound fancy or today's date thirsty, but tiddlywinks, shut eye, saloon milk and other type cringe or "CAP!" Zombies a tramp not a lady and the types go at it, but all the parts make death go by quickly as in the stores and on stands are the gone by variants aimed for decrepit. The like. It is. It was. It laid down as Conquerable.

Not fallen or stiff but resin in a flash bomb bong of like undead feeders. Tramps are like all sizes and defectors factual pretty pink princes. With fluttered eye lids and pouty type dough for a haze around the gills. Bleh, bleh, bleh and they don't even want your blood just the dead skin cells please.

Not a turner of the page goes by without the floundering of wishbone like activity when the gristle and morsel are Ken Kaniff inedible like The Certain Part of The Chicken as Jacobs run in lot of living life.

(Oh, what you, what are you saying?)
All you Trekkies and TV addicts
Don't mean to diss, don't mean to bring static
All you Klingons in the creaking house
Grab your backstreet friend and get loud
Blowin' doors off hinges
Grab you with the pinchers
And no, I didn't retire, I'll snatch you up
With the needle nose pliers
Like Mutual of Omaha
Got the ill boat, you've never seen before
Gliding in the glades and like Lorne Greene
You know I get paid
Like caprese and with the basil
Not goofy like Darrin or Hazel
I'm a motherlovin' Nick at Nite
With classics rerunning that you know all right
Now remain calm, no alarm
'Cause my farm ain't fat, so what's up with that?
I've got friends and family that I respect
When I think I'm too good, they put me in check
So believe when I say I'm no better than you
Except when I rap, so I guess it ain't true
Like that y'all and you just don't stop
Guaranteed to make your body rock
Check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out
What-wha-what-what-what's it all about?
Work-wo-work-work-work-wo-work it out
Let's turn this motherloving' registry out
Said, "Doc, what's the condition?
I'm a man that's on a mission
Said, "Son, you'd better listen"
Stuck in your flask is an electrician
Like a scientist
Mm, when I'm applying this
Method of controlling my mind
Like Einstein and the Rappin' Duke combined
Now, hey baby bubba, now what the deal?
I didn't know you go for that mass appeal
Some call it salugi, some hot potato
I stole your mic and you won't see it later
'Cause I work magic like a magician
I add up, the mathematician
I'm a bank cashier, engineer
I wear cotton and I don't wear sheer
Shazam and abracadabra
In the whip, I'm gonna cruise past ya
Yo, money, don't chump yourself
Put that crypt back on the shelf
Light rays blazin'
You're out of phase and my crew's amazin'
We're working on the record yo
So just stay patient
Check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out
What-wha-what-what-what's it all about?
Work-wo-work-work-work-wo-work it out
Let's turn this motherlovin' registry out
Check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out
Check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out
Check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out
Check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out
Now, I go by the name of the King Ad-rock
I don't wear a cup nor a jock
I bring the stiff that's beyond bizarre
Like Miss Piggy (who, moi?)
I am the one with the clientele
You say, "Ad-rock, you rock so well"
I've got class like Pink Champale
MCA grab the mic before the mic goes stale
Don't test me, they can't arrest me
I'll fake right cross-over and shoot lefty
You look upset, yo, calm down
You look like Cable Guy dunked off of your crown
I flow like smoke out a chimney
You never been me
You wanna rap
But what you're making ain't hip-hop B
Now, get your clothes right out the dryer
Put Armor All up on your tire
Sport that fresh attire
Tonight we goin' out to set the town on fire
Set the town ablaze
Gonna stun and amaze
Ready to throw a craze
Make your granny shake her head and say, "Those were the days"
Now, check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out
What-wha-what-what-what's it all about?
Work-wo-work-work-work-wo-work it out
Let's turn this motherlovin' registry out
~ Paraphrased to sing, Songwriters: Michael Louis Diamond, Adam Nathaniel Yauch, Adam Horovitz.

Bounced and air checked to that gauging pressure of bulleted video gamed Skins and Skynard innards but with a beach side view in outfits. AI Should be so out for dry if the turnaround was to be for something dolled in and dialed up, tick tick tricking tricklet talkings and those by the mmmmmmrrries of brrraaaaaiiiiinnsss. Not for the bed of sleep but the awake and expert shot of pegging the wakes in cataclysmic sized events. A "Seany of the Deaded" dred with Simon Pegg seeking the provision of bread but without something of even an English termed cornetto of a flick in payable change for walking the dog at the abandoned Quick Trip Stop.

The Zombies are out.

The are the muck.

And they've been hooked and winked at their own suffering demise to take back themselves from others with a bite, bite, bite out of comics, comics, comics. Like McGruff the Dog, "Go for Real" and "Take a Bite Out of Crime" the streets are the meaning of public streaking and the expected flashing with decency.