'cause it was an admired service-man
The crowd's with me, all according to plan
At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses
Turn you niggas into urns, my furnaces re-furnish,
Bastard, hap hazardous track master, put a beat on and words become lavishly crass daggers/
Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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