I'll imprison your loved ones in burning furnace
Penetratin' the game on its cervix is my service
Im moving on from ex , but i get jealous , am i a hypocrite?
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,
A vital hazard to my rivals, they're primal planners survival's the only sign that matters
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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