Legs cave when I try to stand up
It’s too thick, to drink such muck
It’s too late to try to wake up
I’ll turn my iron into a kettle
To spray my tea all over a petal
(Jumping off a toadstool)
Saints are losers, crims are king
Eyes are boozers, lips do sing
Shady gray, and block and weight
To surf, to groove, and move, to skate
Doesn’t matter what you are
As long as your are
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