There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's speghetti.
His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms spaghetti
There’s spaghetti on his spaghetti already, mom’s spaghetti
He’s nervous, but on the surface he looks like spaghetti to drop bombs,
parmesan that goes on spaghetti’s what he wrote down,
the whole crowd goes spaghetti
He opens his mouth, but the spaghetti won’t come out
He’s choking how, everybody’s spaghetti now
The clock’s run out, time’s up over, bloah
