I'll confess i'm just rushin it, always feels like an emergency
Secret service insurgents observe me nervously
Penetratin' the game on its cervix is my service
Except for the lower class, now what's their purpose?
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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