This is a song about "Mccloskey"

My punch lines make you bleed internally,

Secret service insurgents observe me nervously

I'm a very lucky man, to have had her love like i did.

Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,

Bastard, hap hazardous track master, put a beat on and words become lavishly crass daggers/