Bow your heads-i see the lines of my beaten artist hearses.
At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses
Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,
And i ain't never did a bid and i don't have a little kid
Simply unable to afford four little pills that cost only a few dollars
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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