Frogleg from Superposition by Superposition

Cut man in the corner, up against the ropes.
You know you've got to stay on the move.
No target, no connection, playing out the eights.
You put it down in this round.

Over when it's over, not a step to lose.
It's a weight bag snapping loose.
Purse is in the pocket, bucket full of spit.
If it's not one thing it's another.

Said and done for, nothing in the least-
is gonna drag you back to this ring.
Or any other, for matter of fact.
A TKO ain't gonna cut it.

Are you smelling those salts? Telling those faults?
When it comes down to the title.
You feeling the reach? Nothing left to preach.
And the wolves they howl a little louder.

Now a few more strokes, bludgeon up the folks.
Who said they knew a somewhat wiser.
Outcome of the contest, like a towel thrown on the matt.
Now mopping, sopping, the geyser.

Last but far from least, do you think the feast-
will be one of blood and carnage?
So to disappoint, this will hit disjoint.
A pawn in your match, go wanting.

I ran up the steps, used the towel for sweat.
And to the tune, I kept a marching.
So by this I stand, all of that I am.
Surely stands beside me.

By decree of something larger, like the ones in the hot water.
Like a frog in the pot.
Begin to feel the burning, to late to jump on out.
So be reminded of what you sought.

• Groove Metal
• Heavy Metal
• Metal
• NWOOSTM
• Tampa Bay
• Thrash Metal
• St. Petersburg