At the sound of the Bel, to load shells, to deliver on Sunday, "You got mail!"
Wantin' to nail? To all fall down? To inherit the Earth? Ur a clown.
And as the trumpet sounds, at the speed of sound, but this Star is the White Light.
So thas when you heard with the Morning Brew, so thas when ur "mind" rings true.
And what was, you were, and you knew, but it was only a clue.
So you do the McDouble, the past troubles, and thas when it catches up.
As you pray, but no one gives a fuck, faith w/o works is relying on luck.
And know Ye' doin' the Nintendo and the crescendo, you stay a sittin' lit like a duck.
And the chicken that goes cluck at the revolver, the Mt. Sinai Lava, this to the Moon.
And we jus had Ye' ass on Zoom, but Ye' locked up, this is ur last Prison Sentence.
So we like, "Good Riddance!" This the Dennis, and Puff's now ur menace.
To take the top bunk, you inherit the Professor Klump, and to profess ur faith to the deceased.
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