|
Spasm waiter dropping to his knees, sees |
|
Slander on wrap paper ties |
|
Lifting up his head he feels the sunlight in his eyes |
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Grasp a kettle top and shoot the breeze, please |
|
Ramble while slop scraper sighs |
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Tossing in his bed at night he'll dream until he dies |
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Operations at the sink |
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The dribble liquid visible beneath his troubled eyes |
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Feels it tilt and start to slide |
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Mask a pretty hopper's foot with squeeze cheese |
|
Dangle some grape apple pies |
|
Tranquil and serene until he runs out of supplies |
|
Your hands and feet are mangoes |
|
You're gonna be a genius anyway |
|
Your hands and feet are mangoes |
|
You're gonna be a genius anyway |
|
Your hands and feet are mangoes |
|
You're gonna be a genius anyway |
|
Your hands and feet are mangoes |
|
You're gonna be a genius anyway |
|
Mask a pretty hopper's foot with squeeze cheese |
|
Dangle some grape apple pies |
|
Tranquil and serene until he runs out of supplies |
|
Your hands and feet are mangoes |
|
You're gonna be a genius anyway |
|
Your hands and feet are mangoes |
|
You're gonna be a genius anyway |
|
Your hands and feet are mangoes |
|
You're gonna be a genius anyway |
|
Your hands and feet are mangoes |
|
You're gonna be a genius anyway |