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Choosing Who To Pray To
View from the pew View from the tomb Few tunes from the Mu Mu Fortunes made and lost with a pew pew Six shooter brandished, saying be cool Too cruel for this rule, became a recluse Following Ra’s clues like Blue Trained with boot and tool, Blue Razz Ra’s al Ghul Ratchet one looking like…
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Mood: Cruellest
Laughing like Tidus Meanwhile you’re Titus Groan If you keep going on this way You’re going to find out why April Is the duellist’s month Let’s meet out front Blood rush pumping Taking our paces On a mark, about facing Let one pawn be erased Without the spirit, flesh is but waste Refuse, a vile…
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Waterdreamer
Need a boat connect, something with propellers Propel myself along a dirty-dish-wet deck on peglegs forever Why there’s porn on the telly I can’t tell ya Enough girls here, like a trafficker’s cellar. Came from Africa like early man Ireland map where we’re selling at Wildest Thornberry, born ready Flooded the block like rocks broke…
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Gash tally
Niggles in the body from rough sport pre worm turn Before I could easily afford the trappings of a Lord All somebody’s sniggering excised swordlessly in a single stern term You can’t have a wife and also turn to confirm she’s still behind A cake to have later or a crumb-laden paper plate, choose your…
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Em Oh
Leave the gun take the cannoli, my MO Leave the Son, trace the unholy to its hole AM I’m unpenting a phlegm rope Before my breathing holes’re off wrote PM never absenting, going off road A jewel-hemmed robe afore my heathen host In my north room, the Goat loft.
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My joints are Dutch Masters
Crossed wrath-tossed oceans for the most commotional crow and dro That kicking foot, Goliath stood Dutch growers could hope to sow Overeem passport, half the store up my hole. I get it past for sport In dreams I’m revisited by the physical remnants of burnt passports.
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Having it
Frank admission, my issue’s rarely regard drug acquisition Attained standing and position by preying on addiction Hug my missus before heading out on business She bugs me about staying clean, hitting books My crooked books are cooked, worried we might be bugged Circle of salt, not warding off slug assaults on my bergenias Too dug…