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Thought Industry - Horsepowered lyrics
Halcyon prick absinthe loaded. Popes moselle in Christ, slurping dead Jim's fat ass wife with shamrocks and driftwood. I'm an articulate man, but the chanty says to fuck. Scrape. Sterilized aqua rectum. Chumly the Walrus. Adventures bloop gumption's "if"? Catholics crust lust my stomach, Jim's dumb tame moray. How many times, Timmy? How many times, Jenny? Let's rinse and rinse. Scrape. Cheap man's lumbering hulk city bus will swoop me off at nine. 'tards with lunch pails. Bums hacking snot. Some fruit sniffing shampoo. A drunk bus driver. Kill that bus driver. Kill the fucking bus driver. Scrape. "Hey, here's part of my new book. A clever political anthology. It's for the pretentious and cute. So I named it 'America, will you please stick it in and ride?' Fly dove. We fly." Vacillate stance silver Zippo and cotton. My varicolored weapons and wasps. I'm ok. I'm fine. Feel swell. It's neat. Don't bump me. Bang bang delicious. Go bang bang delicious in the bathroom at Crossroads mall. Scrape. I'm a fucking pop star. Non-threatening music. Chipped meat hunk seen on Fox. Scrape. I'm a fucking pop star. Budweiser sponsored. I've made it. Put it there, chum. Scrape. "I bought a song. Some sort of Neil Sedaka sample. Hey, pay attention to me. It's so damn important. Well, Fuck ya'. So stick it in and ride." Fly Bush. We fly and ride. Free Quayle we fly. Angie's lonely and stinking drunk, with morals like frozen piss. She'll stick it in and ride. Fly Rush, we'll fly and ride. Free horse we ride. |
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