This is a song about "Sexsoccer"

I'm hot like the backlash backdraft from sugar packets packed with anthrax

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

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

Now all i want is more my little pony toys to play wit

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses

I like alliterative verses, i like cussing and inovative curses