Jack Buggin and Bill Trippin
Are detectives with a twist
They work their cases wasted
And every clue is missed
They bring no criminals to justice
Put no bad guys behind bars
They stumble through the gutters
And stare up through the stars
MDMA, hexahydrocannabinol
Psyllacibin, dexanabinol
They’ll ingest but can’t pronounce
They don’t know what sweet flag grass even is
But they’ll devour every ounce!
Your honor the state moves for a mistrial
Our detectives are unsettled in their minds
Oh dear heavens no look now
They’re shooting krokodil
Straight up their behinds.
Buggin & Trippin
