This is a song about "Sales"

And the headrest had to have about eight thorns

Bring back record sales, i sail while i break records

Then keep your change like an oink machine

With sales of fish scales from triple beams i gleam

When the relay starts i’m a runaway slave

Money and power come to us through direct sales,

We gotta find peace and end the war in the streets

Im cuttin the sales and makin the scenes,