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Ticking off the subjects in a queue of the damned |
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Fungible commodities to hoodwink and scam |
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Devouring our meds as your body wastes away |
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The side effects are cancer, rotten gums, and decay |
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You can't control the nausea or diarrheic shit |
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We have a pill for that but it will cost you quite a bit |
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The tumours are spreading and they won't go away |
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Poisons are injected to keep them at bay |
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To counter the poison, we have here a pill |
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We can't make you better if we don't make you ill |
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As tens of thousands die, our profits are sky high |
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We'll drain your coffers dry; you are the dead |
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A sordid little tryst, we're in up to the wrist |
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It's useless to resist; you are the dead |
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Choking down the meds through a bolus of snot |
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If this is really living, I'd think you'd rather not |
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Picking at your lesions can be such a crushing bore |
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But our new antidepressant keeps you crying out for more |
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You'll need them when you find out how they've riddled your brain |
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The boys down in the lab are making something for the pain |
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You can't get to sleep until you've been sedated |
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The pain in your liver cannot be abated |
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Your kidneys malfunction and your nerves are a wreck |
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Just keep taking our pills and keep signing the checks |
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Metastisizing, the cancer devours |
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The Reaper grimly hovers |
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Admitted to a hospice to rot on a mattress |
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You'd better hope you're covered |
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Contagion; infection; solution: extinction |
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[solo: "Ethics and the Pharmaceutical Industry" - J. Kocol] |
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Necrotizing flesh makes a mess of the bed |
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The nurses don't care because you are the dead |
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Not long for this earth, you have to come to grips |
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They've taken out the feeding tube and intravenous drip |
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The light is slowly fading, the voices are unclear |
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This has not been your year |
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As tens of thousands die, your deductible's sky high |
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We'll drain your coffers dry; you are the dead |