I was born underwater, I dried out in the sun
I started humpin' volcanoes, baby, when I was too young
Started surfing the mad house, and I decided to stay
I got an itch in my cosmic pocket, and it won't go away

Instead of draggin' the swamp for your lost [bad word] to me, I'm your living crop circle

Like a lamb to the slaughter, like a peach in the sun
Curl up in my flame pit, baby, until you're way over done
I came up from the ground, I came down from the sky
And I rounded her knees like a worm with a mission
'Cause I'm made out of salt, and I'm made out of coal
And I live like a king, In a showmercial

Instead of letting the man make you a monkey
Fry your head in the living crop circle-yeah!

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah,
I'm your living crop circle