Lyrics

[Intro – Caleb, wide-eyed whisper]
Yo Mac… it’s 11:03.
Frank’s talkin’ to the cornbread. Again.
And Terry?
Terry’s just out back… ish-ing.
We gotta go, man.
[Verse 1 – Mac, muttering like a man who’s seen too much]
Caleb, hush—sit down and stay low,
Frank’s in a spiral, and the cat’s MIA, yo.
I just want drumsticks. Peace. No twitch.
But now the Fishmonger’s unravelin’ like a roadside witch.
[Verse 2 – Frank, dreamy, deranged, and holding a trout]
You ever think about how eggs don’t blink?
Not once. Not ever. Makes ya think.
Gravity’s fake, and the moon is a scam—
I got fish that scream when you fry the pan.
Aliens live in the hushpuppies’ crust,
That’s why I season ‘em with Old Bay and trust.
You see this trout? He’s got a past.
And don’t get me started on ceremonial bass.
[Hook – All, rising in chaos]
🎵 Can’t a man eat lunch without a glitch?
No wormholes in the coleslaw, no psychic itch.
Just crisp skin and a roll that’s sane—
Not Frank with a salmon talkin’ 'bout planes.
And Terry’s chantin’, ish in the air...
Someone’s levitatin’ outta that chair!
Lord—
Every Tuesday hits the same ol’ hitch:
We came for chicken, got a fish-splainin’ witch. 🎵
[Verse 3 – Terry, from outside, voice echoing through dimensions]
Ishhhhhhh... ish... you feel that hum?
That’s Tuesday thunder in your bottom gum.
Ish for the folks who walk too slow,
Ish for the sauce that’ll melt your shadow.
I seen a crawdad quote scripture in mud.
Ish is life, Mac. Ish is blood.
Now excuse me—I gotta whisper to a napkin,
It knows things.
[Verse 4 – Caleb, spiraling deeper]
Mac, my fork’s humming again, I swear!
And Terry just kissed the sugar bear.
Frank’s in the corner sellin’ “moon-proof fish,”
Why is there gravy on the ceiling?
WHO MADE A WISH?
[Verse 5 – Christina, entering mid-glide]
Mac… I missed you.
Tried to mail you a spell but the postman combusted.
Been dancin’ on Saturn with my cousin Dusty.
He’s a were-llama now, long story.
Did you save me a thigh?
[Verse 6 – Mac, knife out, eyes twitchin’]
Nope. Nope. Not today.
Not fallin’ for Frank’s Fish of the Fey.
Not dealin’ with Terry’s philosophical foam.
Not lettin’ Christina make this place her home.
I came for lunch. I came for peace.
I brought Tums and my demon-release.
If y’all don’t stop with the mystical pitch—
I’m slicin’ reality and leavin’ a stitch.
[Final Hook – Everyone, ecstatic, distorted harmony]
🎵 Can’t a man eat lunch without a glitch?!
No butter that speaks, no interdimensional snitch!
No Frank with a mackerel shoutin’ ‘bout fate,
No Terry in the fryer yellin’ “Ish is great!”
Just a biscuit. One bite. No breach.
No cobbler that sings in a forgotten speech.
But naw—
Same ol’ Tuesday, same wild hitch...
Somehow, still... the same damn witch. 🎵
[Outro – Frank, solemn, holding a glowing egg]
“You ever wonder...
If the egg is just the earth, but cracked open...
...by the beak of time?”
(beat)
...Anyway. Who wants trout?