Shopping spree, candy yam lam with the butterfly doors and prada seats
Everybodys plot is deceit, when its not, its retreat cuz ill stomp ya, with cleats
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/
Or even near to my family
I make food for the family, go back to insanity
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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