I'm living my best life, saying my best rhymes,
wishing a peace sign, it's party time.
Stuck on a hammock, up in the attic,
jamming some classics,
getting real high,
so high.
It's comedic,
miles on Rosetta Stone,
speaking Phoenician,
down low,
down low low, down low,
down low low.
All my best friends are at a party,
and way more successful than me and you.
They don't know that we're aging harder,
and it's the party our friends never knew.
My puppy's smiling,
way off in dreamland,
long as he's wagging,
what more can I do?
Tried all the workouts,
we laugh it all out,
we're having a good time,
locked up inside.
There's a lemon tree lives on the rooftop,
the fruit's still small,
but it ain't as big
as March's TikTok.
Down low, down low,
down low, down low.
It's an open house,
and we're running out of places for coats,
and the flowers in the
basement are all in full bloom.
It's a perfect crowd,
we're all shivering and shaking,
cutting
rugs in a teepee lit like a full-grown shroom.
And down low,
down low, down low,
down low,
but I'll go another time.
Part of the year, month-y, week-y days.
Civil plea, chirk to
charrey.
Down low.
But,
down low.