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lyrics
Garnish your sautéed air,
telly tray for Wedgwood plate and get full, boy.
Full of pride.
Plaster seal of a man on me
This is a third hella base,
a strobe lights tide, a new riverside
like red wine stains I am stained forever
and didn’t even get to wave hi.
The same inner beef in a different scenery,
kill me with awful lot of talking of the Wonderland articles
I’m here to kill time.
Count to ten ’fore he pokes H-A-T-E to another blank spot,
count again.
Warm new bread—a cure for my stale indifference,
taps—the gloss in my ways.
Yogis in a park seemed to feel, but only strayed
on a hunt for a doobie to blaze
—what a belezza for a warm new grave.
Yet a third hella trade
to avoid the sores from an itchy state.
For every jersey I get a penny,
but the fleas get used to me.
If tired—I’d propose,
to lay me down and overdose
with the ones I adore the most.
Brush the salt of my clothes
and then garnish my sautéed air,
telly tray for Wedgwood plate and get full, boy.
Full of pride.
It’s such a luck my mentor’s passed before I joined her club
of those who had built this.