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Let me put you up on |
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Bob's donuts |
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Controller of the warm deep fryer that charms cobras |
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Mostly it was aggravated ulcers over goat's legs |
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Will they go for maple, custard, buttermilk or wolfs bane? |
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Hm, late after your cinderella pulsate and crash |
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I was rotating casts |
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Picture if you will a witching hour on week night in the trenches |
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Where paranoia dead-ends in a bright florescent heaven |
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With sprinkles |
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I know right yum |
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Whether tummy ache or fever |
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Keep the funnel cake |
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I'm honey glaze in vitro |
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In the company of similar believers |
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Sleepless, who hear the walls breath and foam at the facial features |
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Now the yeast, a phoenix in the partially hydrogenated |
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Equal parts flower, faith, healing |
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Might replace your previously nominated jesus |
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But only if you privy to the following secret of all secrets |
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Shh, every night at 12 they would march out from the back |
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With a tray of raw dough for the pool of hot fat |
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Show up around 1 never get your god back |
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If you're just tuning in, walk into the light |
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I boil oil too, not for scarfing |
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For CCs of japanese innovation that screech into free parking |
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Purple heart and 2nd chin that beseech him to squeeze the carbs into the motherboard |
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You can chew the eucharist in cruller form |
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Locally a seedy danish underworld is bustling where jelly's not a celebrated it's a puppet string |
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Pluck, nose for canola5 cow stomachs like a mime with a rope going nowhere |
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Fast, right hand of god on my shoulder, crows feet swollen, dopey |
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Combing apple fritters over with folk of opposing cultures |
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Baby sitter cop thief reverend, body glitter, botched c-section, bronze teeth |
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Each progressively more sequestered |
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Yet if threatened will defend the rasin bread as codefendants |
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Some lose religion or view it as superstition |
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You can tell a friend ifyou are down to kill them |
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Shh, every night at 12 they would march out from the back |
|
With a tray of raw dough for the pool of hot fat |
|
Show up around 1 never get your god back |
|
If you're just tuning in, walk into the light |
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The fat boys are back, foam fingers over open arms |
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To feverishly reclaim their stomachs from golden jars |
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And stagger through the pulse ofthe gulch on a builder's dividends |
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Hiding high behind his guilty powdered-sugar fingerprints |
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Seething eventide fever, sidewalk feeling a little dicey |
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I'm snake-eye straight to the cakes icing |
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Might, fortune-teller up your favorite paper tiger stripe |
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Great, grace invaders, the first-name basis patron haters |
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Who compromise the pilot lights and flavors |
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Silent night, holy night, invite the pious out the pagan |
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Midnight kitchen doors un-caging the enablers like butchers in bloody aprons |
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Can I get a ****ing amen? |
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AMEN, hazelnut raiders of the lost,navigate consecutive pastries like stations of the cross |
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No name no dayjob |
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Know the folk where it virgin mary toast by the loaf |
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Thanks bob |
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Shh, every night at 12 they would march out from the back |
|
With a tray of raw dough for the pool of hot fat |
|
Show up around 1 never get your god back |
|
If you're just tuning in, walk into the light |